


Hit Me, Baby!

by candlejill



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst, Aspiring Comedian/Hitman Richie Tozier, BDSM elements, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dead Georgie Denbrough, Dubious Consent, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Hitman AU, M/M, Not Beta Read, Rimming, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Stealing Heavily From Barry, Violence against kids, Which is to say pretty violent, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 54,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27748192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candlejill/pseuds/candlejill
Summary: “Looks like your wife put a hit on you, dude.” A wave of patient understanding washes over Richie’s face, “I’m just gonna let that sink in a minute.”“A hit? Like-”“She wants you dead, man. I don’t know how else to tell you.”“Richie,” Eddie scoffs, “Bro. Come on. Like I’m supposed to believe that?”“That your wife wants you dead?” He asks, genuinely concerned. “I know it’s a lot-”“Actually, that I believe,” Eddie interrupts. “But, come on, dude. What the hell is-” Eddie swallows nervously. “You can’t be a-” he laughs at the idea, “No fucking way in hell did Trashmouth grow up to be a hitman!”~*~Myra puts a hit on Eddie after he tells her he wants a divorce. Lucky for him, his childhood friend and aspiring stand-up comedian, Richie Tozier, gets the job.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 148
Kudos: 296





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not the first of its kind, this fic steals much from HBO's Barry. 'Jason Fuchs' in this fic is supposed to be the stage manager from IT Chapter Two but also serves the role as Monroe Fuches from Barry.
> 
> Additional tags will be updated with new chapters.

  
  


* * *

A nagging, familiar voice deep at the back of Eddie’s mind frequently haunts his thoughts. His mother’s voice, intrusive, commanding and cold. One that still gives him pause, enough to mentally battle the figment of her though she has long since passed. _That’s dirty, Eddie._ Or, _You’re too fragile, sweetie._ And always, _Think of your health, dear._ But the number one, chart topping hit that loops most frequently is, _No woman is good enough for my Eddie Bear._

There was a time he’d feared the truth of it- because it’s funny to him now, Ma was right all along. There never would be a _woman_ he was meant to spend his life with. It’s only- there _was_ a time when his much less confident voice was terrified to even suggest an alternative.

For years he pushed that part of himself away and buried it deep.

In a fucked up way he did it to please her. He married Myra, despite Sonia’s vocal disapproval, because he was too much of a coward to be honest. One part defiance and two parts fear. Because he could marry a woman he didn’t love as a quiet _Fuck you!_ to Ma, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. No, that was a step too far.

Their marriage worked for a while, he supposes in the end. He wasn’t alone, and that was something. Until it isn’t. Until being alone is the most coveted fantasy he holds in the depths of his resentful heart. He turns to his solitary fantasy, working late nights at the office until he is sure his wife will be asleep by the time he comes creeping in.

Eddie often wonders if Myra had always been so overbearing. If he hadn’t realized it because the looming cloud of his mother’s own controlling protestrations had been too strong and too loud to notice them in her. Myra had a way of encouraging his autonomy from Sonia, but he realized too late that he ran towards her instead. She’d redirected his attention her way. By the time he began to question her manipulative behavior he was at the altar. Too late. He chose to live with the assurance that a wife and companion was better than the solitude and pitiful existence of living for his mother. 

Of course, it was all a lie.

To Myra. 

To himself. 

Eventually, that terrified voice he’d learned to silence so well grew insistent. More confident. Festering within him, screaming to bring light to the misery he’d committed himself to. And suddenly with his mother’s death he could admit to himself how much he’d fucked up by marrying a woman he doesn’t love. It still takes two years for Eddie to act on it. Then it all happened quickly, meeting a lawyer in secret, dividing their assets in a way Myra was least likely to complain. He obsessed over perfecting the terms before bringing it to her. The prenup (his insistence, for obvious reasons) split everything fairly, but he was willing to concede to her more than her share if it ensured an efficient exit. And that’s really all he wants in the end.

Once the paperwork is ready, though one-sided as it is, it becomes easy. A thrill. A new fantasy of freedom finally playing out frequently in his mind. One he can’t wait to turn into reality. Because it will. 

Soon.

The day he confronts her, it’s raining. Bleak and cold, just like her. Like their marriage. Like the last bit of shriveled up happiness he guards fiercely within himself. Though he doesn’t believe in omens, he has to admit the rain is poetic. He can smell the wet cement and mud from the open window. 

So he tells her, apropos of nothing save commentary on the rain. He simply wants a divorce. Only, she comes unhinged. Truly a state he’d never imagined he’d witness. They’d raised voices in the past, sure. Didn’t everyone in a failing marriage? Tears he expects, but Myra possessed a quiet rage in her rejection of his insistence of a legal separation. She is dark and cruel beyond measure when she realizes his intention is to go through with it. 

She packs a bag and leaves for her sister's upstate.

And though he had certainly been ready for a battle, he still never expects, not on their worst day, that he’d end up tied to a chair in the guestroom of his own home because of her.

Dark. 

It is dark and cold, just like the day he told her.

His wrists ache behind his back from being bound by rope. His head is pounding. 

“Kaspbrak,” the nasally voice that calls out is almost friendly in it’s query. “Kaspbrak,” the man says again. Searching. Tasting the way it feels over his tongue.

It occurs to Eddie then that it’s dark because he is blindfolded. Pulling at his restraints, his heart races, “You motherfucking cock sucker, I will end you! Let me out of here!”

The voice huffs a laugh then mutters to himself, “Why the fuck does that sound-” Eddie can hear him inhale with recognition, _“Edward_ Kaspbrak. What the fuck? Duh! _Eddie!”_

His blindfold is suddenly pulled from his head. Eddie blinks back the tears burning behind his eyes and allows them to adjust to the dull lighting of the guestroom. The man is sitting on the edge of his bed. Dressed in dark clothing, he’s leaning forward with a ski-mask concealing most of his face. The comprehension of the situation filters through Eddie and with a shiver he realizes he’s being fucking robbed.

“Holy fuck! Is that you, Eds?” The man says. Eddie thinks he’s smiling.

“Eds?” He whispers to himself. It’s familiar. A faint recognition deep inside himself knows that name. He shakes his head as he demands, swallowing back fear, “What the fuck do you want? You want money? I don’t have anything, man! I have suits and like, I don’t know. My wife has jewelry. I have some Omega watches. A Breitling-”

“No, man! I’m not here to rob you, dude. It’s me!” The man pulls the mask from his face. Eddie can see his bright toothy smile and messed dark hair sticking up at all angles. “Richie! Richie Tozier, from Derry.” As Eddie furrows his brow, the man leans in to give him a better look. 

“Glasses,” Eddie whispers to himself absently. He isn’t wearing them but even without it’s undeniable, “Holy shit. _Richie?!”_

“Yeah, man! Small world,” Richie moves to pat his leg in what Eddie thinks is meant as a comfort.

“What the hell are you doing here? Is this like a- a prank or something? I haven’t seen you in, like, over twenty years. What the fuck? Untie me!” His wrists ache as he pulls against the ropes once again. It doesn’t feel like a joke.

“About that-” Richie sits back on the corner of the bed, decidedly _not_ untying him as he braces his palms on his knees. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into, man? Some bad shit, huh?” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Eddie shakes his head, the only movement he can manage. The pounding in his chest is only second to the confusion he feels trying to understand what is happening. 

“Is your mom still around? God, not that I’d want to bring you to her, but fuck, I know you don’t have anyone else.”

“My mom’s dead. Tell me-” Eddie demands through gritted teeth, “What the _fuck_ you’re doing here.”

“So, bad news-” Richie starts softly as Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, waiting for him to continue. “Someone wants you dead.”

_“What?”_

It definitely has to be a joke. Some kind of prank. Searching his mind, he does quick math to figure out what year of high school reunion is coming up and wonders if Richie’s sudden appearance could have anything to do with that. He didn’t even graduate from Derry, Sonia pulled him out sophomore year, and it doesn’t make sense, but it’s the only thing that his brain can provide as an explanation, because why the hell else would Richie Tozier have him tied to his chair in his bedroom pretending to rob him?

“Uh, give me a minute, man,” Richie pulls a phone out from an inside pocket of his jacket. Eddie notes it’s one of those athletic zip ups that are perfectly functional but make you look like a douchebag if you turn it into a _lifestyle,_ and he suddenly wonders if that’s the kind of asshole Richie has turned into _._

“Oh, sure. Take your time,” Eddie offers sarcastically. “Asswipe! Let me go!” He feels like he’s kicking but his legs are restrained and he knows realistically he’s not getting anywhere. So he yells, “HELP!”

“Ah, ah!” Richie is next to him before he blinks, hand covering his mouth. “I just have to make a call, can you chill the fuck out, man?”

“No, I can’t chill the fuck out! HEL-”

A tie of a gag slips between his lips before he has a chance to realize Richie’s even moved. He pulls it tight, fastening it behind his head. Muffled shouts, barely loud enough to be heard from the next room, let alone outside, are all that escapes.

“Dude. Give me a minute. Christ.” Richie shakes his head and holds the phone up to his ear, muttering to himself, “Come on Jason, you dick.” 

With a heaving chest, Eddie watches furiously as Richie paces the room.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he says finally into the phone. “Yeah, yeah it’s fine. I’m in the middle of it. But what’s the intel on this one? Is he fucking over government employees or-” Richie freezes. “What?” His brow furrows, _“Wife?_ A fucking domestic dispute? I told you man, I don’t want that shit.” Rolling his eyes, he continues, “Fucking put Gray on it next time, Jason! I don’t care if I was in the area. No. Next time. No, I got this one. But I mean it, you asshole. I’m done with this shit. I’m done. Starting _now!”_ Richie pushes a button on the phone with a huff and shoves it back into his pocket.

As Richie crouches in front of him, Eddie struggles once again to pull his hands free. Anything to move. 

“Okay, promise me you won’t scream? I’ll take this off,” he points to the gag.

Eddie nods with wide eyes. Richie loosens the fabric and when it falls free, Eddie scratches out, “What the _fuck_ is going on?”

“Looks like your wife put a hit on you, dude.”

The words don’t make sense as he hears them. He repeats them over in his mind, still not comprehending what the hell is happening at this moment in his guestroom.

“I’m just gonna let that sink in a minute,” a wave of patient understanding sweeps over Richie’s face.

“A hit? Like-”

“She wants you dead, man. I don’t know how else to tell you.”

“Richie-” Eddie scoffs. “Bro. Come on. Like I’m supposed to believe that?”

“That your wife wants you dead?” He asks genuinely. “I know it’s a lot-”

“Actually, that I believe,” Eddie interrupts. “But, come on, dude. Come on. What the hell is-” Eddie swallows nervously. _“You_ can’t be a-” he laughs at the idea. “No fucking way in hell did Trashmouth grow up to be a _hitman."_

“Hey, fuck you, dude. You don’t believe me? I mean, I only broke into your house, knocked you out, tied you up, and waited around in your little love nest for too goddamn long for you to regain consciousness. But sure. Fine. I’m lying. The only reason I went to all that effort instead of putting a bullet in your skull is because I recognized your name.”

“Richie,” Eddie says as calmly as he can manage, “Untie me right this fucking second.”

“Okay, so this brings me back to my previous question. Do you have _any_ place you can go? Distant family I don’t know about? Friends you trust on the other side of the country? Like, somewhere you can go to completely restart your life and assume a new identity?”

“What?” Eddie blinks at him before yelling, “No!”

“Okay,” Richie begins pacing, “Okay, right. So, okay- I can work with this.” 

“I’m not running away from home, asshole!” 

“Yes,” Richie says simply, “You are.”

Trying his hardest to thrash around, anything to maybe loosen the bindings of his arms and legs, Eddie grunts in frustration. Heaving and out of breath, he says, “I’ll go to the fucking police, Rich.”

“You don’t have proof, dude. There’s nothing on this. No trail.”

“I have you.”

Richie laughs, “Fuck you. I’m not turning myself in, dickhead.”

“Fine, I’ll say you told me and I got away!” Eddie tries. “I won’t tell anyone I know who you are. They’ll see bruises on my wrists for proof and- and I don’t know, you can take shit. I’ll say I bargained for my life!”

Richie hovers over him with his arms crossed. He takes a deep breath and Eddie can see it now as he leans down. The serious determination set in his glare. The sharp focus of his furrowed brow and clenched, angular jaw. It’s a distinct change and Eddie feels a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck when he realizes it. The Trashmouth he knew when they were children is no longer in the room. This is a man who won’t hesitate to take a life. Eddie knows it in his soul.

Then his face softens. Unexpectedly, he cracks a smile. Richie says, “Have it your way, Spageds.”

 _Oh, I fucked up,_ is his last thought before Eddie is submerged into darkness. 

* * *

While Eddie was in college he dipped his toes into the shallow end of the party scene. Dragged along to random houses by new friends, it was a welcomed reprieve from the sheltering nature of his mother. Never shy to show up, he was, however, apprehensive to trust himself in an inebriated state. The desire to be in control was too strong and it took years before he felt comfortable understanding his limits. But he knew them. He knew just the amount to drink and the ratio of water for proper hydration in order to keep himself from the throbbing headache he’d been unfortunate enough to encounter only a handful of times. So when he wakes to the dull thrum and the feeling of blood pumping rhythmically in his skull, he knows something is wrong immediately.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, blinking slowly to the soft dim light. 

“Oh, hey. You’re awake. I thought you might be out for the night. I was getting ready to move you to the bed.”

“The-” Eddie looks around, confused to find himself in what appears to be a low budget motel. The curtains are drawn, the stock art adorning the walls with equally hideous wallpaper are an eyesore. The flatscreen TV seems to be the only modern amenity in the room. He glares at Richie, who is now wearing glasses looking all the more the Trashmouth Eddie knows, plus a few inches and a few grey hairs. He places a chair in front of him and straddles it to sit. 

“Where the fuck am I?” Eddie demands.

“This lovely little lodge is called The Guest House,” Richie gestures to the room using what Eddie assumes is his best Vanna White impression. _“We_ are the aforementioned guests.”

Eddie wants to strangle him. 

An attempt to move his arms strikes the realization that they’re still bound behind his back. Inhaling deeply, trying to calm himself and push his fear aside, Eddie grits through his teeth, “Take me the fuck home. _Now.”_

“Sorry, buddy,” Richie smiles at him apologetically, “We are no longer in The Big Apple.”

“Untie me,” he demands slowly. The throb in his head is growing. He’s starving and his brow is dripping with sweat. Eddie wants this whole fucking nightmare to be over. “Untie me. Untie me! Fucking untie me right this fucking second, Richie!” 

Richie leans back as Eddie thrashes around in his chair. “Calm down.”

“Calm down?” He huffs, “You want me to fucking calm down. I’m three seconds away from completely losing my shit, you motherfucker!”

“Aww, that’s right! How is Sonia, my first love?”

“Fuck you!” Eddie yells which he regrets instantly as Richie’s hands cover his mouth before he has a chance to blink. 

“I’ll gag you, dude, don’t think I won’t,” Richie’s fingers press hard into the flesh of Eddie’s cheeks, bruising against his teeth. “I will untie you after you understand a few things. Now, will you shut the fuck up?”

Eddie mumbles a _Fine!_ and tastes the salt of Richie’s fingers against his lips. 

Putting his hand down, Richie wipes it on the leg of Eddie’s pants before returning to the chair in front of him, “Alright, Eddie baby. Let’s try this again. You cool?”

“Actually, I’m very fucking far from cool, Rich,” his voice shakes hysterically. “I just want to go home, fall asleep in my bed, and go right back to forgetting you ever existed.”

A wounded look flickers across Richie’s face before he schools it into something unreadable. “Eds- 

“Don’t you fuckin’ call me that,” Eddie interrupts.

“-you can’t go home. Someone is trying to kill you.”

“ _You_ are trying to kill me!”

“It’s not safe.”

 _“This_ is literally the least safe place for me to be. Here with _you!_ ”

“Okay, we’ve already been over that, but let’s start there. I’m sorry I was going to kill you. I will endeavour to do my best not kill you in the future. Do you forgive me?”  
  
Eddie furrows his brow, anger and incredulity seep through him in a rush, “No!”

“Okay, well, you still can’t go home. Just because _I’m_ not planning on killing you doesn’t mean someone else won’t finish the job. Your wife knows too much. You know too much. They’re not just gonna let it slide. I’m sorry, Eds, it’s just not safe. While your body is undiscovered they’ll think that I took care of it, but if your wife sees you walking around in your underwear in the living room Fuchs’ll just send someone else. And believe me, you do not want the replacement on the job.” 

“Alright, so what’s your great fucking plan then?”

“I’m working on it. But right now the plan is- I’m gonna shower because I’m fucking exhausted from lugging your ass around. You want the TV on?” Richie shifts the chair Eddie’s tied to enough so he has a clearer view of the screen. He finds the remote and flips through the channels. “Oh, bird documentary. You’re not Stan, though. Hmm, _he_ would love this shit. You remember him? Stanley Urine. You two still talk?”

 _“Uris,”_ Eddie corrects. “Oh, yeah, Stan. I haven’t thought about him in years,” the memory of him settles warmly in his chest. “That’s right. He had that weird little bird fetish,” Eddie smiles.

“He would beat the shit out of you for saying that,” Richie laughs. Pointing to the TV he adds, “Look, _Point Break._ That okay for you?

“No, Richie. It’s not okay. I have to fucking piss and I’m sweating through these clothes. My wrists ache like a motherfucker from being tied to a fucking chair all day and, oh yeah, fuck you asshole!”

“Okay, okay!” Richie sighs standing, “Jeez.” Crossing his arms he says, “Alright. New plan. I’m gonna help you to the bathroom. You can piss, shit, shower, whatever the hell, but-” he pauses “I’m gonna be in there the whole time.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“Obviously I have a gun,” Richie scoffs, walking around to the other side of the chair where Eddie can feel the ropes tug on his wrists while Richie makes good on his word and loosens them. “But I don’t need a gun to take you down, shortstop.”

“I’m average height, asshole. Just because you turned into a giant freak doesn’t mean that _I’m_ the statistical anomaly here!”

Richie laughs and Eddie can finally pull his hands free. He rubs around the red rings on his wrists trying to soothe them. They burn from the friction of trying to escape and the angle they were held at makes them ache.

Sighing, Richie’s hands go to the rope at the leg of the chair. “Alright, so I’m gonna ask you something before I untie you completely. Are you gonna do that thing where you try to overpower me and attempt to escape? Like I said, I have a gun, but even if I didn’t it wouldn’t help you.” 

Eddie bends over to work on the knot around his other ankle, “Sound pretty sure of yourself. For all you know I’m a master in krav maga.” Both legs break free and he rubs the skin in relief, “Christ.”

“Fiiine,” Richie sighs, drawing it out melodramatically. “Let’s just get this over with, Grandmaster Kaspbrak.” He walks around the chair, positioning himself in front of Eddie. 

Eddie stands, massaging his wrists, “What?”

“I want you to come at me,” he bends slightly and gestures at him. “I’m not gonna pull the gun on you. I just need you to know it’s not gonna happen, man. You can try your best to run, realize it’s fucking futile as shit, then we can get ready for bed. It’s been a long fuckin’ day.”

“You-” Eddie stands tall, blinking in surprise, “want me to escape?”

Laughing softly, Richie says, “I want you to _try_.”

Furrowing his brow, Eddie stares at him a beat then looks around the room, trying to find anything to aid him, “Uh, so, is this like a way to kill me with a clean conscience or something? If I’m fighting you off then you can choke me out without feeling bad?” He takes a step back, giving more space between where Richie is blocking the only exit.

“Choke you out? Kinky, man,” he teases. “But no, dude,” Richie stands and his shoulders go slack. “I don’t want you constantly planning your big move to escape. It’s exhausting- for you, for me- let's get this over with then we can come up with an actual plan.”

“Yeah, and what’s that gonna be?”

“Finding a safe place for you.”

“Oh,” Eddie crouches a little, raising his fists in a stance. As an idea forms, he relaxes and stands straight, appearing to give up. “Actually. I think I’m good. I mean, if you say you’re not gonna hurt me, I trust you. Once a Loser always a Loser, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Richie eyes him skeptically, standing again. “I mean, I don’t know about you but I take blood oaths pretty seriously.”

“That was insane. During the fucking AIDS epidemic too. How the hell did Bill get us to slice our palms? I don’t really even remember why we-”

“Bowers,” Richie’s eyes dart to the side. “That time after Bowers attacked Mike. Before Neibolt-” 

“Fuck,” Eddie sighs, placing his hands on his hips, “that’s right.”

He had forgotten about that summer. More likely blocked it out. 

Henry Bowers chasing them down and terrorizing them was no new occurrence but the summer of ‘89 was different. Henry was unhinged, digging a blade into Ben’s flesh seemed like only the beginning. The group often hid in their clubhouse in order to avoid him but when he and Patrick Hockstetter cornered them and nearly dropped Mike down a well, the group was lucky to escape. 

With a series of very fortunate maneuvers, Richie throwing his voice and a few fists as well as Bev and Bill launching an attack, Eddie and Ben were able to grab hold of Mike before he fell. But it was a narrow escape. After that they vowed to protect each other no matter what. It was the summer the kids went missing, and they all knew Bowers was to blame, but with no proof (and a father who was a cop) none of the adults would believe them. Not until the incident only referred as _Neibolt_ when they finally had the tragic proof.

It was something Eddie had practiced years forgetting. When he shakes himself from his sudden memory, he grabs the chair in front of him and hurls it at Richie.

“Shit!” Richie dodges it easily. “I thought we were having a moment, asshole!”

Faking to the left, Eddie attempts to run right but Richie grabs him, a bruising grip on his shoulder. In defense, he throws back his fist the best he can manage, connecting hard into Richie’s stomach, doubling him over in a loud grunt.

As easily as Richie makes his plan sound, it is fucking insane. He’s not going to give up his entire life and assume some kind of fake identity living across the country. Someone has a hit on him- his _wife_ wants him dead. Eddie needs to get the hell to the police. He isn’t going to just let Myra walk away with all his assets, not to mention he has work tomorrow-

“You little shit,” Richie coughs. Too quickly, he extends his arm, fisting at Eddie’s shirt and pulls him close. 

Eddie kicks as hard as he can but Richie knows how to evade it. Walking him backward to the bed where Eddie is finally able to land a punch across his cheek, Richie tosses him far too easily on the queen mattress behind him.

Richie laughs, “Fucker,” breathy and light, but it sounds like an endearment. Like he’s proud and they’re only wrestling in the clubhouse.

But they’re not kids.

Wondering briefly if maybe Richie would actually hurt him, Eddie begins to panic. He’s already regretting the fight as Richie is climbing on top of him, pinning him with his legs and gripping tightly to his already tender wrists above his head. _His hands must be huge,_ Eddie thinks, feeling the way they wrap entirely around. Trying to kick once more, a feeble attempt at one last escape, he knows he’s well and truly beat. Richie’s stronger, faster, and simply better than him at this. He’s done this before and he’s good.

Chest heaving, Eddie stares up at him wide-eyed, waiting for Richie’s next move. Somewhere in the back of his mind, with the bounce of the mattress, fond remembrances of horsing around in Eddie’s bedroom are unearthed from his memory. Richie always was better, even then. Wrestling for play in Derry had been dangerous for an entirely different reason though, and now the same man that made Eddie’s heart pound when they were kids was pinning him down once again.

In Derry it had been simply frustrating, but now Eddie is scared. He can’t help but be. _This_ Richie isn’t anyone he recognizes. The precision and execution of his moves, it is beautiful really, but dangerous. 

“Are you gonna stab me now?” A scratching whisper is all Eddie can manage. Richie’s legs are so firmly pressed against him and he needs it to stop. 

“I got something right here I can stab you with, Eds,” Richie leers, grinding further down into him. Eddie almost welcomes death at that point as he blushes while Richie continues to say, “I’m talking about my dick.”

It's a step too far. 

Eddie closes his eyes and internally starts counting out deep breaths.

“I’m fuckin’ with you, Eddie. Shit. You okay?” Richie pulls back, rolling off of him he positions himself next to Eddie. Grabbing a tight grip around Eddie’s forearm, Richie pulls him to sit, the mattress bouncing as they go. “Are you gonna throw a chair at me again? Run away?”

“Like I’d even be able to make it out the door?” He spits bitterly. Hanging his head in his hands in defeat, Eddie takes a deep breath. “Shit, I have like-” it’s harder to breathe, “medication and shit I need from home.”

“Oh! That’s right!” 

Lifting his head slightly, Eddie watches Richie scamper, a goddamn scamper like he wasn’t just whipping out his Bruce Lee moves on him, across the room to dig through a duffle bag. Eddie glares at him as he returns with an earnest smile, looking at him like he’s expecting praise.

Tossing him the small bag, Richie says, “I took everything with your name on it. I remember Mrs. K kept you on a tight regiment. I even found your inhaler. You still need that, dude?”

The frost in Eddie’s chest warms slightly as he pulls out his inhaler, inspecting it enough to be satisfied before taking a puff. He feels better instantly, “I’m not trusting a single pill from you.”

Crossing his arms, Richie’s eyebrows lift, “Look, I’m not gonna poison you. Fucking inefficient as shit when you have a gun. Not that I blame you for questioning it, but that’s just not my style.”

For the first time since this whole thing started, Eddie feels curious. “What _is_ your style?” He still can’t believe that the jokester- the pain in the ass, Richie _Trashmouth_ Tozier, wound up doing something like this. That he was capable of it. He was a bit of a dick but always sweet, deep down. Sensitive in a way that he was quick to cover with a joke. To even ponder that he’s possibly killed several people sets a shiver down Eddie’s spine. 

“I’m not about to spill my M.O. here, Eds.”

“Don’t fucking call me that, dude,” he blanches. The sweet endearment bestowed upon him as a child feels wrong now. Yeah, as kids he begrudgingly toterated, perhaps even _liked_ the special attention the name provided, but now? The kind of person Richie is, whoever he turned into, Eddie doesn’t want it.

“Come on, dude,” Richie walks toward the bathroom and gestures for Eddie to follow. “I’m fucking wiped.”

Eddie is too. Despite his bouts of unconsciousness, the day had been full of far too much excitement. He wants nothing more than to fall asleep and deal with convincing Richie to let him go in the morning. Because that’s all he can do at this point. Brute force was never his forte, but weedling down he can manage.

Richie waits for him with his arm extending an invitation to the bathroom. Reluctantly, Eddie goes. 

“You’re really gonna watch me, man?” He asks, perturbed.

“Uh, yeah,” Richie replies, like he’s an idiot. “I’m not gonna let you find a weapon, or, I don’t know- tap morse code on the pipes or some shit.”

Scoffing, he shakes his head and rubs his still sore wrists. Eddie walks to the toilet seat, lifts it and relieves himself quickly without further commentary about how much of an idiot he is to think he could make a weapon out of soap and cheap towels. He nearly moans at how good it feels to get the pressure off his bladder, though. Washing his hands quickly, he glares at Richie leaning against the door frame, before turning to the shower. Any temperature just on the side of burning feels perfect, so he adjusts the water and once again glowers back at Richie.

Richie is avoiding eye contact too intently which speaks to just how much he’s paying attention in the peripheral.

“Don’t murder me while I’m naked. If I have any say in this, Rich, let me die with my clothes on.” He gets a chuckle out of Richie for that, not what he was going for, but it eases the tension between them.

“Noted.”

Taking one last deep breath, he pulls his shirt over his head. With resolute determination, he quickly pushes his jeans down, boxer briefs and all, and steps out of them. Waiting a moment for a smart ass remark that never comes, Eddie turns to the shower and finally steps in. 

This time he’s unable to hide the moan of satisfaction he feels from the heat overtaking him. The pressure is somehow ungodly perfect against the dull ache of his muscles. He washes quickly, grimacing at the motel soap and the residual scum it leaves behind. Trying to ignore the screaming in the back of his mind warning him about Athlete’s Foot or other germs the shower undoubtedly contains, he knows it’s better than marinating in his dirty clothes any longer. 

“Don’t drop the soap, Eds,” Richie calls over the sound of running water.

Popping his soapy head out, Eddie growls, “Why, are you watching me?”

“Hard not to with the show you’re putting on,” Richie smirks back.

Eddie flips him off then returns to rinse the soap as quickly as possible. He’s pretty sure Richie can’t see shit, but the idea that he may be watching has Eddie’s heart pounding faster. Finishing up, he turns the faucet off and calls out, “Hand me a towel, dipshit.”

“No need to be so modest,” but Richie quickly hands over a bleached and scratchy towel by flopping it over the shower curtain rod.

Eddie grabs it thanklessly and dries himself the best he can manage before wrapping it around his waist. As he pulls open the curtain, Richie wolf-whistles at him.

“Okay just- you can fuck off,” he rolls his eyes, flipping Richie off once more.

“Gladly,” Richie returns a toothy grin.

“How are you still like this? How the fuck have you not changed since high school?”

“I _am_ full of youthful exuberance,” he agrees, to Eddie’s annoyance. 

“Not what I meant, asshole. You’re still immature,” Eddie counters, stepping carefully from the shower. He eyes his dirty clothing with a grimace, loathe to put the sweat soaked fabric anywhere near his now clean body.

“I have a clean shirt you can wear,” Richie offers.

Eddie thinks about refusing him, but looks back to the offending pile on the floor and bites sarcastically, “You mean you didn’t think to pack me a change of clothes when you kidnapped me from my home?”

“Can a forty year old man be kidnapped, Eds? I know with how small you-”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie interrupts, hand slicing through the air, “Shut the fuck up and go get me a clean shirt!”

Richie smirks at him but says nothing more before doing as he’s told.

Eddie briefly considers making a run for it, wondering if he could get out the door in time. He grips the towel around his waist and sighs. There will be a better time. One when he’s fully clothed and wearing shoes. He’ll wait until Richie’s guard is down and escape then. 

Grabbing his boxers from the floor, Eddie examines them before pulling them back on. A shirt from Richie is one thing, but he’s not about to share underwear with the man. 

He steps out of the bathroom as a ball of fabric hits his face. With a scowl he holds it up to say, “You do _not_ have a _Frankie Says Relax_ shirt in the twenty-first century, Richie.”

“Sadly, not anymore. You do.”

Taking a deep breath, Eddie pulls it over his head and sighs. It’s too big by far, hem falling past his thighs covering his underwear, but it smells clean so it’ll do for the night. “I’m not wearing this tomorrow so we better figure some shit out. Why’d you grab my meds but no clothes?”

“Because as I was hauling your deadass weight out the door I remembered you used to set that little alarm on your watch. Your medicine was always a huge fucking deal. I’ll pick you up some shit in the morning.”

Eddie rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue further. Perhaps if he can convince Richie into letting him come along he’ll be able to get away from him then.

“Look, I need to shower,” Richie tilts his head considering him. “So you can either be tied to the bed, the chair, or the toilet.”

Evening out his temper, Eddie points to the bed with resigned reluctance. Walking over to it he shakes his head and jumps on. With a feigned bravado he crosses his legs in a relaxed lounging position. He tucks his hands beneath his head, and says with a knowing smirk, “Tie me up, Rich.”

“Fuck,” Richie blinks back at him owlishly, waiting too long before moving into action. “Gonna get me half-mast seein’ you all trussed up on the bed like this, Spageds.” 

The pause and the way Richie looks at him makes Eddie’s face heat up. “Is that what does it for you these days?” Eddie’s no longer sure he’s teasing when he asks.

Richie starts at his ankles, wrapping the rope tightly enough to sting, no longer protected by a layer of denim, then anchors it to the leg of the bed. “Only for you, Eds,” he replies, moving to Eddie’s wrists next. And Eddie finds himself offering them much too easily. Something he tries not to examine too closely.

There’s a residual fear in asking the question that pops into his mind next. Like maybe he already knows the answer, or hopes he does anyway. Like he had always hoped he had known when they were younger but was truly too afraid to ask. Despite the increase in his heartbeat, he’s determined not to be afraid of the question any longer when it slips out from his lips before he has a chance to hold back. 

“Are you gay?”

“Uh-” Richie stammers before admitting slowly, “Yes. Is that gonna be a problem?”

“If I say it is, will you let me go?”

Richie rolls his eyes and moves away from the bed. “No.”

“Then why ask, man?”

Scoffing, Richie bites, “Because it’d be a really big fuckin’ disappointment if you grew up to be a fag hater like Bowers. Shatters my world view of you.”

Eddie laughs. He’s not about to waltz out of the closet in commiseration, but he understands that guttural fear deep in his soul. It’s what drove him to stay in a loveless marriage to a _woman_ for countless years. He shakes his head and replies, “I don’t give a shit who you fuck, dude. I’m more offended about your kill count. Please never tell me that, by the way. You fucking murder people. Why the hell would I care where you stick your dick?”

“I don’t _murder_ them. I’m not a serial killer. I don’t have, like, trophies. They’re bad guys, man. They’re not soccer moms jonesin’ for the next hit of pumpkin spice. They’re, you know, fuckin’ mobsters and shit.”

“Once again do I need to reiterate that you were going to kill me? _Me!_ The worst thing I do is forget to pay my parking fines on time, asshole.” Richie pulls the rope tightly, finishing his wrists. “Ow,” Eddie glares.

 _“I_ wasn’t supposed to get you. I already told you that. It was a mix up,” he walks away.

“So, one of your buddies would have killed me and that’s better? How many other fucking mix ups have there been over the years, Rich? Huh? You ever think of that? Do you normally get to know the people you kill or just take your bosses word for it that they’re ‘bad guys’?” Eddie calls after him as Richie flips him his middle finger and walks into the bathroom, leaving the door open wide.

Eddie waits until he hears the sound of the water running before trying his restraints. They’re secure, just as before. He wasn’t expecting to get anywhere but his heart falls all the same. _Point Break_ is still on and Keanu Reeves is playing a game of chicken, about to jump out of a plane. The desire to focus solely on the movie is overwhelming but Eddie can’t stop himself from thinking about anything other than the desperation he feels for his current situation.

Myra wants him fucking dead. He knew she could be a bitch but he never expected this of her. Maybe he was cold in the way he told her he wanted a divorce, but _this?_ Then again, she warned him. She told him if she couldn’t have him, no one would. 

“Fuck,” it’s barely a whisper as he bangs his head on the pillow, holding back tears. 

He thinks about Richie next. The boy he yearned secretly for in his final years at Derry before his mother packed them up and moved away. Avoiding the way he felt for him back then hadn’t been easy but the alternative was much worse. Just as it was now, but again for such vastly different reasons. Back then he’d never dared to hope, but now that he knows Richie is gay too he can’t help but wonder how in any other circumstance maybe they could have given it a shot. Maybe Richie had been carrying the same torch that he had so often fantasized about back then? In another life, maybe they could have been happy. 

Eddie can admit he’s ashamed at the way his body reacts to seeing him now. All broad shoulders, muscular and toned. And he’s strong. He’s so fucking strong, the way he threw him on the bed like it was nothing- shaking his head, he hopes it’s all just a residual response to a teenage crush.

Clenching his eyes shut tightly, Eddie allows himself a brief moment to mourn what Richie has turned into. There’s an overwhelming certainty that knows it’s all related to what happened that summer in the Neibolt house when they found Georgie. Richie never was the same after that. But Eddie never would have expected this. He wonders if he had done more for him back then, maybe this wouldn’t have become his path.

The water turns off and he pretends not to listen intently to the sound coming from the bathroom. When Richie finally emerges, Eddie’s head turns towards him without thought. His hair is damp and Richie’s wearing light blue striped boxers and a long sleeved shirt with the head of a kitten wearing a birthday hat printed in the center. Eddie scoffs a laugh at it as Richie pushes up his sleeves and walks toward the bed with intention. He quickly works at untying the rope on his ankles. 

“You ever talk to Bill?” Richie asks conversationally, as he moves to Eddie’s arms. He leans over and Eddie can smell the same cheap motel soap on his skin that he had used on his own.

“No,” Eddie replies. “I have a few of his books, though. After I moved I kind of, you know, lost touch with everyone. Do you talk to him? To any of them?” His wrists break free and Eddie rubs them while he sits up. He doesn’t even think as he shifts over enough and Richie climbs onto the bed next to him, both leaning against the headboard.

“No, man. I haven’t talked to him since, shit, that summer I graduated, I guess? That’s right. I remember Bev was the first to move. Then you. Ben wasn’t too long after that. It was just me, Mikey, Bill and Stan for a long time. Mike wasn’t at school, though, remember he was homeschooled? After we turned sixteen he was always working at the farm.” Richie sighs, “Bill and Stan both had jobs that kept them pretty busy too.”

“What did you do?” Eddie asks, genuinely curious.

“I-” Richie looks down, offering the mattress a sad smile, “I don’t know, man. I found ways to keep busy.”

“Apparently,” Eddie can’t keep his eyes off of him, the way his muscles move as he crosses his arms, his dark hair falling over his brow, and the glasses. They aren’t quite the same, no longer magnifying his eyes, but they’re similar and Eddie’s heart aches with the fondness he feels for him. “So, what the hell happened to you?” He asks softly.

“After Georgie-” Richie starts, then takes a deep breath, “After _Bowers_ , I couldn’t sleep. You remember, right? You remember the nightmares?” 

Of course he remembers. The tap of his window late at night was burned into his mind for years after he left Derry. Many late nights he’d be accompanied by Richie climbing into his room and into his bed. “Yeah, Rich,” Eddie says simply. He always told Eddie the nightmares had eased when he wasn’t alone.

“Right so, after that I started to get just fucking obsessed with being able to protect myself.”

“I remember you were pretty good at throwing a knife.”

“That was just the beginning. After you left I got my parents to buy me a gun. I told them I was hunting. I guess I was. I got good. Really good.”  
  
“With those four-eyes of yours,” Eddie teases, bumping his shoulder into Richie’s.

“Fuck you. I’m farsighted, bitch. I can’t see shit up close, but my distance vision is perfect,” Richie smiles back. “I use contacts mostly. But anyway, I got pretty good with a gun. I met this guy who sort of helped train me. After I dropped out of college I went back to Derry, ran into him again, he knew a guy, hooked me up with a job, and here we are.”

“With you holding me hostage.”

Sighing deeply, Richie says, “Look, you’re not my _hostage-”_

“Oh, so I can leave?”

Ignoring him, Richie continues, “You’re free to go as soon as you understand exactly the depth of shit in which you are in, Eddie my man. That guy that trained me? He’ll come for you if you go back home. He’s fuckin’ psycho as shit and he does it for fun. There’s no calling him off.”

“So what the fuck am I supposed to do, Rich? I can’t just abandon my life. All my savings. My entire _career?!_ I don’t even have my social security card. I can’t do shit without proof of who I am.”

“Okay, how about this- how about you just give me a few days to figure it out? I can talk to Fuchs, tell him I didn’t actually kill you and you’re off limits. He’s not gonna like it but I’ll front the money so he’s not out from the hit and he should be fine. But you gotta give me some time here, man. It’s not as simple as just calling it off. Gray is a fuckin’ psycho and if he hears you’re getting away he’ll show up at your house just on principle.”

“You told them I was dead?” 

“I panicked! I said I took care of it.” 

Eddie thinks about that for a moment, eyeing Richie skeptically. He might be able to do that, spend time with Richie like old times. “Just a few days?” He asks.

“A week tops. Okay? Just think of it like a fucked up vacation where you’re getting to know your old friend Trashmouth.”

It’s not a bad idea. At the very least he can pretend to go along with it and if he changes his mind then surely he’ll find a way to escape. “Fine,” he says reluctantly. “Don’t kill me in my sleep, though.”

“No naked killings. No sleep killings. Requests noted.”

“I’m starving,” Eddie says, changing the subject. 

“Oh, yeah!” Richie leaps from the bed and over to his bag. He pulls out what appears to be a gas station sandwich and throws it at Eddie.

Eddie stares at it, sealed in his lap. The meat has been sitting out too long and his mind is getting ready to lecture Richie about the bacteria growth. But his stomach growls and he holds up the sandwich. “This all you have?”

“Yep,” Richie says around a mouthful of his own.

“I really fucking hate today, Rich,” he sighs, opening the package and takes a bite.

Richie laughs, “You’ll live.”

“I better.”

It’s not great but Eddie’s hungry enough to eat the entire thing. He doesn’t have a toothbrush but Richie gives him his toothpaste and Eddie manages to use his finger and a washcloth. He feels disgusting but there’s nothing that can be done so he rinses his mouth and goes back to the bed.

Climbing under the covers, Eddie reaches over and turns off the lamp on his side of the bed. The light from the television still glows softly in the room. When he turns back, Richie’s holding a hand up and Eddie scowls when he recognizes what’s dangling from his finger. 

“Handcuffs? You fucking serious right now?”

“Thought we could get a little kinky tonight, Eds,” Richie fires him a wink.

“Would you stop fucking calling me that?” He’s eternally grateful for the cover of darkness in the room to hide his blush as Richie once again grabs his hand. “I agreed to your plan, okay? You don’t need to do this.”

“I’m not just gonna take your word for it, sorry dude.” Clasping the cool metal around his wrist, Richie lingers too long with Eddie’s hand before attaching the other side to his own. 

“Where’s the key?” Eddie asks.

“I swallowed it.”

“Very funny,” he fires back sarcastically.

“Chill. It’s tucked away in my bag.”

“You better not fucking lose it.”

“I’ll just pick it if I do. I might pick it anyway if I’m too lazy to dig out the key.”

“Now you’re just flexing,” Eddie shifts down and tries to settle into his half of the bed, kicking the blanket enough to get comfortable.

“No, this is a flex,” Richie smiles, lifting his free arm, “You were looking for tickets to the gun show, right, Eddie baby?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Eddie throws a spare pillow at his face, hoping he’s distracted enough to ignore how much Eddie did enjoy the show. “Go to sleep, asshole.” 

He tries to settle away from him, leaving his arm out to the side enough where he’s not entirely comfortable but it would be better than being tied to the bed (which he had initially feared it may come to, or worse, the floor). Holding his eyes shut too forcefully to really attempt sleep, Eddie feels the bed dip and shift and move as Richie adjusts himself under the covers next to him. He hears the click of the remote and the remaining light fades, the room now thrust into darkness. A blanket of security from all the thoughts running rampant in Eddie’s mind.

The noises from the cars pass outside and normally Eddie would never be able to sleep in such a circumstance. But it’s late, and he’s tired, and his muscles fucking hurt. His body craves sleep.

“Goodnight, Eds,” Richie says softly next to him.

“Night Rich,” he replies, and it almost feels like their old sleepovers. He wonders out loud, “You still get nightmares?” 

Richie is quiet too long before he answers, “Sometimes. I’ll try not to kick you.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to hold the silence. It’s late and they should sleep but he has to know, “What happened in Neibolt before we got there?”

There’s a long pause before Richie sighs, “I’ve never told anyone except the cops. But, if you don’t try to run away from me in the next couple days, I promise I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Eddie’s stomach jumps a little at the idea of it. It’s something he's always wanted to know, always too afraid to ask, and now it's almost enough to make it worth it. “Okay, Richie. Goodnight.”

He should probably try to fight it longer, but the crash of adrenaline is too strong and sleep overtakes him easily.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My outline for this story is over 16 pages/6500 words. It may start a little slow but it's definitely going to be a ride!

* * *

  
  
Waking the next day is a full ass journey in which Eddie is not prepared to embark. First comes the pain. Aches in muscles he never knew existed, reverberating throughout his body. His wrists are bruised and tender, too stiff to move. Next, confusion settles over him when he blinks open his eyes not finding the familiar dresser and lavender walls he’d grown accustomed to in his and Myra’s shared home. Instead he sees the garishly putrid print on the wall from the night before and Richie scrolling through his phone with a donut in hand, dropping crumbs onto his lap across the room. Eddie blinks as he watches him brush them off absently.

It’s bizarre studying him like this. His hair is unkempt and Eddie can see fingerprint smudges on his glasses all the way from the bed. His mouth twitches up in a smile occasionally at whatever he’s reading on the screen. Like this, he looks exactly how Eddie would have imagined all grown up.

Eddie questions whether he can do this. If he can spend the day with Richie like his life isn’t at risk, largely due to him. Pretend that they really are just friends from school becoming reacquainted. He finds that he wants to, though reluctantly so. The honest truth is he’s desperately fascinated by whatever life Richie has led outside of Derry. His own is so painfully provincial that he craves the story if only to live vicariously through his old friend. 

Now that the anger and exhaustion have subsided with well earned sleep, Eddie believes Richie when he says these men are dangerous. He knows he can always go to the police later, so after a surprisingly restful night he decides he’ll play nice and follow Richie’s plan until he can go home.

“No handcuffs?” Eddie’s voice is rough from disuse. He clears his throat.

Richie startles then gestures to the table, “Sleeping beauty is awake! I come bearing donuts.”

Sitting, Eddie rubs his wrists, lifting them toward Richie, “When’d you take them off?”

“This morning. After I got back. You were dead to the world.” 

Humming absently, Eddie stands from the bed, groaning as his muscles protest, shuffling his way into the bathroom. He uses it quickly, opting to shower since Richie is allowing him the freedom to be there unaccompanied. The hot water works miracles on his aches. When he’s finished and toweling himself dry, he glares at his dirty boxer briefs. With a disgruntled huff, he flips them inside out and puts them back on. He opens the door letting the steam into the next room as he continues to towel dry his hair. The curtain is pulled open now, light from the morning, a blindly cheerful welcome.

Eddie notices aloud, “No peepshow this time? Not going to protest me using the bathroom alone?” 

Richie stares at his bare chest, taking a moment to blink before he answers, “You need an audience, all you gotta do is ask. I’m down.”

“Why aren’t you babysitting me?” Eddie furrows his brow, trying again. He sits heavily on the chair next to Richie at the table. Glowering at the box of donuts and trying not to calculate the impending amount of saturated fat he’s about to consume, he reluctantly grabs one and jams it into his mouth. “Why didn’t you get any fruit?” He mumbles. It’s sugary and artificial and he wants to gag at the grease but maybe it’s a little delicious too. It isn’t so bad.

“Call me an optimist but I’m hoping that you're still with me on the plan, right?” Richie ignores his question. “Give me a few days to ease Fuchs into the idea of letting you go.”

“Ease into-? Fucking tell him that I’ll pay double what Myra paid then I'll be on my way. Better yet, put _her_ on your list instead.”

“Would you-” Richie stills, studying him carefully, “want that?”

“No! Richie. Do not kill my wife!”

“It would probably make it easier-”

“Stop,” Eddie interrupts, setting down his doughnut. Holding Richie’s attention he says clearly, “It’s not that I don’t give a fuck that she’s a cold hearted bitch that wants me dead. It’s that, unlike her, _I_ can’t live with myself if she died because of me. And I certainly am not going to ask you to actually do it. Also, I’m not going to jail over this bullshit. So, again, do _not_ kill my wife, Richard.”

“Alright, alright,” Richie lifts his hands. “Jason would probably be down for you paying double, however-” Richie takes a melodramatic pause, long enough for Eddie to roll his eyes, “Gray doesn’t like to let anyone go. There is kind of a principle to the whole thing. If you know how many people offer you money when you’re right about to-” Richie shakes his head, trailing off. “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, I can talk Jason out of it as long as I vouch for you but Gray’s not gonna let it slide as easily.”

“Gray’s the one who trained you?” Eddie mumbles around another bite.

“Yeah. And he’s always been batshit insane. Talked about destroying the world and inflicting fear into the hearts of man- that kind of certifiable bullshit. But he’s good at what he does and he actually likes it, so he’s not a fan of extraneous people being aware of who we are and what we do. Actually, telling you about him probably puts you at greater risk, so I’m gonna shut the fuck up now.”

“So, wait, this Fuchs guy, Jason, is your boss but Gray is like a- what? Coworker?”

“Eh-” Richie scratches his jaw, “Essentially. It’s more complicated than that.” 

“What the fuck does Gray care if Fuchs is okay letting me go?”

“I don’t know. Yeah, Jason is in charge of the details, but Gray is really the one who got the whole operation going. I don’t really ask questions, man, I just point my gun at the bad guys.”

“Well, maybe you should fuckin’ start, Rich.” Eddie sighs, wiping his face. He looks down at his nearly naked lap and says, “I need clothes, dude.”

“Oh, right,” Richie jumps from his seat. 

Eddie ignores him while he retrieves a fresh shirt and drops it in his lap. It’s black, better than the one from last night, but when he unfolds it Eddie sees the print in white, _Super Cali Swagilistic Sexy Hella Dopeness._

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes. Shaking his head he turns it inside out and pulls it over his head. He stands and finds his jeans from yesterday, stepping into them. “I’m not wearing your shit. I need clothes if I’m fuckin’ off from work for a few days until you can get this figured out.”

Richie tilts his head to the side. “I once saw Gray put needles into a guy’s eyeball just because he didn’t like the color of them. Thought red would look better.”

“What the fuck, dude?” Eddie stares at him. 

Richie continues, “Pulling out nails, filing teeth- that’s all amatuer hour, alright? I mean, he’s not afraid of sticking glass up your piss-”

“Okay!” Eddie interrupts. 

“-slit.”

“I get it,” he shakes his head, “seriously, what the _fuck?_ ”

“I want you to completely understand why the hell I’m terrified about you going back home right now, okay? He doesn’t just put a bullet in your brain. He takes people to a second location and tortures the shit out of them to get his rocks off. And he absolutely will track you down to do the same to you if he feels like this isn’t handled correctly. Cops won’t get to him in time before he’s got you strung up in some warehouse amputating your extremities for fun.”

His heart is racing at how intently Richie is meeting his eyes. He appears to be genuinely afraid of this guy and that’s what it takes for Eddie to fully understand the shit he’s in. If Richie’s telling the truth, then he truly _can’t_ go home. 

“Okay, Richie. I get it.” And he feels like he finally does.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Richie says, “You want to go get some clothes? Have ourselves a good old fashioned shopping montage?”

Eddie wants to laugh but the image he painted him of Gray is weighing too heavily. “Well, I’m sure as fuck not wearing this bullshit for the next week,” he says instead, tugging at the inside out shirt. 

“Come on,” Richie stands and slaps him on the shoulder. “I think there’s a mall not too far from here.”  
  


* * *

  
“Baltimore?!” Eddie’s hands grip his hips tightly and purses his lips, “We’re in fucking, Baltimore? How long was I out yesterday?”

“So,” Richie says calmly, “I may have drugged you.”

“Jesus Christ. Is that why my head was pounding when I woke up?”

“Probably. Also, I did hit you. Sorry, man. I just had to make sure you weren’t gonna wake up while I was driving.”

“Goddamn it! It could have had an interaction with my medication, Richie,” Eddie shakes his head as he opens the car door. “You’re lucky I didn’t fucking die.”

“Am I?” He teases. “It would have made my life much easier. Like, it literally would have taken care of all my problems right now.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Eddie ignores him. 

“You don’t like shopping?”

“Does anyone _like_ shopping?”

Richie laughs, “Uh, yeah. A ton of people. Besides, what are you in such a rush for anyway? It’s not like we have anything else to do.” 

“My underwear and shirt are both inside out. I need new socks, not to mention I haven’t properly brushed my teeth in-”

“It’s been one day, dude,” Richie interrupts, “Calm down.”

Eddie huffs at him but concedes as he marches towards the store. It’s nowhere he’d ever be caught dead in back home, because yes, his career has provided him with the good fortune of enjoying a few luxury items. But at this point anything is better than what Richie has been giving him including cheap polyblends. 

He spends the remainder of the morning pulling out shirts from racks, eyeing them up, then throwing them over Richie’s outstretched arm. Socks, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and shaving supplies all find their way into Richie’s overflowing arms before Eddie grabs a duffle bag to store everything. He throws in another pair of jeans and even tennis shoes for good measure, all while eyeing Richie waiting for him to complain. 

He doesn’t.

“I’m not paying you back,” Eddie asserts.

Richie shrugs, picking out other necessities that Eddie forgets and seems to be genuinely happy that he’s there as he cracks jokes and pulls smiles from Eddie. He doesn’t know what to think of it all by the time they’re ready to pay. Richie takes out his wallet without remark, not that Eddie could pay anyway since he doesn’t have his fucking wallet, but the domesticity of it all makes his chest feel tight.

By the time they’re walking back to Richie’s car, (a new black Subaru Outback that Eddie teases him mercilessly for, _Leave my lesbian love mobile alone, Edward!)_ Eddie realizes he hasn’t thought once about escaping. Even though he agreed to stay, he still might have considered it. It hits him like a punch, stopping him in his tracks. Less than twenty four hours ago Richie had taken him unconsciously across state lines. He kept him tied to a chair, for fucks sake. It still sits uneasy in Eddie’s gut, making his stomach churn as he absently rubs at pain in his bruised wrists.

“You hungry?” Richie breaks him from his thoughts.

“Starving,” he replies quickly. “That deep fried, saturated fat bullshit you brought back to the room didn’t curb my hunger in the slightest.”

“You loved it.” 

“It was like eating a ball of grease, Richie. Fuckin’ gross.”

“Alright, man. So, where do you want to go? Doctor K needs his leafy greens. What direction am I taking us?”

They end up at some vegan joint across town and Eddie feels immense relief that he isn’t putting something in his body that came from a gas station or motel lobby. 

“This is gross, dude,” Richie spits out his tofu burger and stabs his salad instead. 

“It’s not that bad. You’re just being a baby.”

“Eds, I have _never_ had anything that tasted _this_ disgusting in my mouth before. And that’s saying a lot because I eat ass.”

Choking on his sandwich, Eddie can feel heat rise to his cheeks. 

Richie chuckles, “I thought you’d like that one. You’re cute when you blush.”

“You’re so fucking gross,” Eddie tries to say, but he’s fighting his own laugh now.

“Not so gross when it’s being done to you, I can tell you that,” he takes a sip of his drink.

Licking the sauce from his lip, Eddie considers slowly, “You actually do that?”

It’s Richie’s turn to pause. He leans back in his chair and shrugs, “With the right person.”

Eddie’s mind is a blur, suddenly imaging what it would be like splayed out on a bed in front of Richie, exposed and vulnerable, maybe even tied up. Richie would know just how to do it, too. Maybe even force him if he changed his mind mid act and Eddie would be helpless to stop him-

“You really are a homophobe, you know that? The look you’re givin’ me,” Richie shakes his head and takes a bite of his salad. “Straight guys are into it too. Is that why your marriage failed? Not kinky enough for your wife, she decided killing you is better?”

Scowling, Eddie flips him off, “I’m not a homophobe, dickwad. I just think it’s fucking disgusting you get off sticking your tongue in someone’s asshole.”

Richie laughs, “Like I said, it’s not so bad. Give it a shot before you shut it down.” He winks. He actually has the audacity to wink.

“So, do you have a boyfriend you do that with then?” It’s not smooth at all and Eddie winces to himself as he asks, but Richie doesn’t seem to notice.

“Sadly, the only boyfriend I have is my right hand. It’s a lonely life on the road.” Richie gets another forkful of his salad and studies it closely before taking a bite. “I can’t believe you have me eating this shit.”

“This _shit?_ _This_ is good for you, Richie. I don’t know how your body is functioning if all you’re eating is fast food.”

“I work out a lot. It balances out,” he shrugs. “I burn calories.”

Biting his lip, Eddie asks, “This is just what you do, then? You do your ‘ _job_ ,’” he uses air quotes which he knows are dated but he’s not about to say anything related to 'hit’ in this context outloud, “and live out of motels? Life on the road eating at gas stations. That’s it?”

“No. I have a condo in LA.”

“Really?” He freezes. Eddie isn’t sure why that surprises him, but it does. Maybe it being Los Angeles is what gets him, but now that Richie says it, he can see it.

“Yeah. I’m not there as often as I’d like. But I mostly stay to that side of the country. Out of Gray’s way. I only got _you_ because for some reason I thought it would be a great idea to do a continental road trip. Started in Maine to see my parents.”

“What, like you just decided to take off and follow the open road?”

“No, no. I have, like, you know, places to be,” he's almost shy when he says it.

 _“Jobs,_ you mean?” Eddie says in a hushed voice.

Richie rolls his eyes, “One or two. But no, man. I’m-” Putting his fork down, he scratches his jaw, “Okay fine, I’m doing a tour of open mic joints. I have a few slots actually booked, which I’m really fuckin’ psyched about, but in between those I’m just doing open mic nights along the road.”

“Open mic-” Eddie shakes his head, “What do you mean? Like, poetry or-”

“I do stand-up,” Richie says.

Slouching back in his chair, Eddie gestures, “Of course you do! Why is that fucking worse than being a hitman?”

Richie laughs, “Is it?”

“No,” Eddie concedes, “but you definitely don’t need anyone encouraging your misguided attempts at humor.” He says it quickly, but takes a moment to reconsider. Apologizing, Eddie corrects, “No, sorry, I don’t mean that. I think it’s great you’re doing that, Richie. Honestly.”

“Yeah?” He sounds hopeful and it warms Eddie’s chest.

“Yeah, man. Good for you. It’s much better than, you know, the other thing.”

“Yeah? Right. Like, okay I’ve been telling Fuchs that. For so long I’ve just been working for him and for Gray, and I’m good at it. But like, that’s not who I _am_ , you know? Like, Gray pulled me into this because he saw something in me. He saw that I needed to learn how to protect myself after Bowers. And it helped with the nightmares, it did. But then I left Derry. I thought I could do it on my own, you know? Find a purpose. But the nightmares got too bad. My grades were in the shitter. So I dropped out of college and went back home.”

“Then what happened? Learning to protect yourself is one thing, but how’d it lead to, you know, everything else?” Eddie leans forward. 

Richie sighs, “It’s not like I just jumped into it. I had a normal job for a few years. I worked late night at a radio station, not like I was sleeping anyway. But Gray stayed in touch during all that. Said he could set me up with something. A job. I was ready to pull a _Thelma and Louise_ anyway, so I thought, fuck it. Why the hell not? The crazy thing was, it helped again. Like, I knew I was taking out people like Bowers. These are bad people, right? I’m making the world safer. What happened to Georgie and all those other kids wasn’t gonna happen again and it was because of me. Once Fuchs got involved, it all seemed to fit together.” 

“But?” Eddie can tell he’s holding something back by the way Richie is looking down rubbing his napkin with his thumbnail.

"But," he says softly, “lately I’ve just been, you know, not sleeping again. And, uh, that depressed feeling is back. Fuchs keeps telling me that I need to keep doing it and he reminds me how important it is that these assholes aren’t out there hurting people anymore. That people are safe because of me, but I just- I don’t know man.”

“Richie,” Eddies says quietly. He reaches his hand across the table and places it on Richie’s, squeezing it gently to still his fidgeting. He knows Richie’s blind to the truth in front of him. If someone like Eddie was on his list, how many others have been that didn’t deserve it? But he doesn’t want to start a fight and Eddie wonders if encouraging his hobby may be the best way to help Richie realize he doesn’t need this. “I think it’s great you want to get out.”

“I mean,” he pulls his hand away and sits up straight, “I don’t know about _out_. I just started doing stand-up in LA as a way to fill my time, but I sort of kept doing it. Whatever new town I was in, I’d find an open mic night and try it out. I kind of built up a reputation at a few stops, which is actually really fuckin’ cool. It feels so good to be on stage, to feel that kind of validation. Like I’m making people happy instead of hurting them, even if they do deserve it.”

“They might deserve it, but Rich, you don’t deserve to be the one doing it. All that violence, the things you've seen,” Eddie’s brow furrows in concern. “It makes sense you’d get nightmares.” His heart aches for all the things he’s undoubtedly witnessed. The blood on his hands by the things he’s done. 

Richie was just a kid when he’d killed Bowers. He didn’t deserve to live with those nightmares, none of them did. Eddie had gotten them too a long time after it happened, but he’d been able to push it aside. Then again, he wasn’t the one who’d held the axe. Swallowing the uneasy lump at the back of his throat, Eddie adds, “I think it’s great you’re doing stand-up, man. I really do. You know, if we would have become reacquainted under different circumstances I wouldn’t have doubted for a second that you were a comedian. That makes a fuckton more sense to me.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, dude,” he smiles at the memory of the goofy kid in the oversized glasses, “You pushed it too far when we were kids, and my teenage self would kill me for admitting it, but you were always hilarious.”

“Aww, Spagheds.”

“Don’t even think of fuckin’ callin’ me that,” Eddie points his finger sternly.

“Think I just did."

“So, where’s your next gig, funnyman?” He asks sarcastically.

“Well, there’s an open mic happening here tomorrow. That was the plan originally. And Richmond on Saturday. But that’s scrapped now.”

“What? Why? Come on, I wanna see you do stand-up!”

“Really?” Richie asks, timidly.

“Of course,” Eddie admits. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Okay, Eddie. Shit. Alright,” he smiles wide.

The nervous fluttering is back in the pit of his stomach. To avoid it Eddie quickly takes a drink of his water.

* * *

They go back to the room and Eddie makes a beeline for the bathroom to change into his new clothes and brush his teeth. Looking in the mirror, he sees a _ten_ o’clock shadow and decides that can’t wait either. Carefully, he shaves the best he can manage with shitty disposable razors, and at least it’s better than before. 

When he finally opens the bathroom door he is entirely unprepared for what he finds. Unable to move, he watches as Richie, adorning gym shorts and a too tight T-shirt, is doing pushups on the floor between the bed and the table. Eddie has a perfect view of his ass, which he quickly diverts his gaze from but only to land on his thighs, down to his calves. Blushing, Eddie debates retreating back into the bathroom, but then Richie shifts around and begins working on sit ups.

“You wanna take a picture?” Richie teases with a knowing wink.

“Fuck you,” Eddie startles, finally moving from the doorframe. Walking to the bed, he goes to the headboard and starts to pull the sheets away from the mattress.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Richie asks.

Eddie very deliberately does not turn around as he says, “Checking for bed bugs.”

“If there are any it’s too late for us, Eds. We’ve already been infested.”

“You didn’t let me check last night! I’m not gonna be able to sleep if I don’t check.” Richie doesn’t comment further as Eddie continues to examine the bed. No sign of the parasitic fuckers, much to his relief. 

“Are we safe?”

Eddie turns to see Richie resting his elbows on his knees, still sitting on the floor. “From bugs? Yeah. From your dumb ass? No power on this Earth can save us.”

Richie smiles at that as he stands. He walks slowly enough that Eddie has plenty of time to run away, but he remains still. It’s important to him that he doesn’t back down when Richie crowds in close enough that he can smell his deodorant and the faint hint of sweat. It should disgust him. It _does._ But it also makes his heart race when Richie leans in and stage whispers, “I think you kinda like my dumb ass, Eds.”

Pushing him away, _His chest is so firm, what the fuck?_ Eddie frowns, “Go take a shower, you reek. Why are you sweating so bad? How much working out could you even do here? You probably have a glandular disorder. Do you ever go to the doctor? I bet you don’t even have insurance.”

Laughing, he steps back, “I do have insurance, actually.”

“Really?” Eddie says, genuinely surprised.

“Kind of need it in my line of profession.” Richie doesn’t move. Instead he bites back a smile in a way that instantly enrages Eddie for how endearing he looks. 

The way Richie’s looking at him makes him feel insecure. “What?” Eddie huffs in annoyance.

“You haven’t changed at all. It’s kind of nice.”

Whatever the hell that means. “Go shower,” Eddie orders.

Clenching his jaw, Richie replies, “About that-” then he nods pointedly to his duffle bag with the rope sitting on top.

“Are you-” enraged, he puts his hands on his hips. “No, Richie. I told you I’d give you a week. I’m giving you a week.”

“Sorry, Eds,” he steps closer to him.

Richie’s so damn tall and his shoulders are so broad. He crosses his arms and looks like an impenetrable wall, not that anyone is thinking about penetr- _Fuck!_ He pushes the thought from his mind. He shakes his head, a resounding _No!_ But he walks over to the chair in defeat. 

He pouts as he sits himself down, “You’re a fuckin’ asshole, Richard.” 

“Look, just let me have the peace of mind that you won’t run off while I’m jerking off in the shower, okay?” 

“Dude!” He grimaces, “TMI, okay?” Eddie shakes his head again as Richie binds his ankles to the legs of the chair. His hands are almost gentle as he works the rope around his wrists behind his back, weaving through the chair. “I could have gotten away from you like fifty times today.”

“Sure,” Richie offers sarcastically. 

“I could! You might be stronger than me but I can outrun you any day of the week, Tozier.”

“Don’t you have asthma?” He asks, too amused with a very unnecessary tone of mirth in his voice.

Eddie continues to glower. As Richie’s about to walk away, he demands, “Put the TV on at least!”

He does, then pulls his shirt off and throws it on the bed as he walks towards the bathroom.

Eddie is left stunned, tied to a chair in some shithole motel in Baltimore, pretending his best that he wasn’t staring at the way Richie’s muscles moved as he twisted when he walked away. Or wondering what his skin tastes like, with the faint sheen of sweat glistening. Or wondering if Richie really is going to be jerking himself off on the other side of the door in just a few minutes. 

Even though no one is there to witness, he can feel the blush creep up on his skin. Something about being restrained only adds to his own humiliating arousal, which he needs to get the fuck under control before Richie comes back out.

It’s not that Richie looks like a bodybuilder. He doesn’t. He’s not freakishly muscular. But he’s toned in a way that Eddie knows means he possesses strength. Even if he hadn’t pinned him down that first night, Eddie has eyes. He would have been able to see the easy way he lifts his packed full bag around like it’s nothing. And he’s big. He’s so fucking tall. And broad. He’s just… _large-_

The water is running now on the other side of the door and Eddie wonders what he’ll think about while he touches himself. He wonders if Richie uses one hand to stroke while reaching the other to tease at his hole, like he does on occasion. He can feel the build of his own arousal starting as his jeans begin to feel uncomfortably tight.

Eddie needs to stop.

He really needs to stop.

And he really regrets not getting himself off when he showered earlier. 

Focusing intently on whatever reality show bullshit is drawling on, Eddie’s able to calm himself down by the time Richie is finished and walking back into the room. Wearing only his boxers, he uses the towel to dry his hair as he walks to his bag, and this time Eddie doesn’t stop himself from looking. Hair covers across his chest and abdomen and Eddie is dying to know how it feels. He’s the complete opposite of Myra. Undoubtedly hard planes and coarse hair, his personality uncouth but charming. Eddie knows if he touched he’d feel firm muscles where the women he dated had always been soft. 

Equal parts relief and disappointment, Richie pulls a shirt over his head. An obnoxious yellow one with a cartoon rat lifting a top hat from it's head and print that says _Rats Off To Ya!_ Then he’s quickly on his knees in front of Eddie and Eddie can’t look away despite how much he wills himself to. Richie’s eyes are trained on the ropes, but Eddie can’t deny that the situation is suggestive. And maybe Richie feels the same because he’s decidedly not making eye contact. 

Eddie considers again that maybe this thing he feels for Richie isn’t one sided. Hell, Richie’s supposed to be the gay one here. It’s about time Eddie starts using that to his advantage anyway, right? 

Once he’s free and soothing his wrists, Eddie asks boldly, “You ever tie anyone up like that when you fuck ‘em?” Richie’s eyes go wide, an impression of how he looked as a child that Eddie can’t help but feel immensely satisfied by for catching him off guard. 

“No,” Richie seems to admit honestly. “Is that what does it for you, Kaspbrak?”

“Oh, definitely not. But you told me I wasn’t kinky enough so I just wanted to ask Mister Ass-Eater over here what he does for fun. Maybe you’re right and I want to take some notes for my next relationship.”

“No bondage,” Richie replies stiffly as he turns his back to Eddie to return the ropes to his bag. “I guess I would with the right person if that’s what they were into.” The way he looks over his shoulder back at Eddie reveals more than it should, but it’s not enough to decipher entirely. Cautiously curious is how Eddie would classify it if he had too. He wonders if his own is a mirrored expression.

Eddie saunters to the bed, climbing on and relaxing easily, “Huh, I thought you’d be into some real depraved shit. You know, with everything else you do.”

Frowning, Richie fires back, “I don’t get off on it! All that other stuff- the death. I don’t _like_ it.”

Feeling the conversation turn from playful teasing to something untouchable, Eddie lifts his hands in defeat and quickly soothes, “Sorry, man. I’m just fuckin’ with you. I was just thinking, it probably wouldn't be so bad to be tied up. Don’t have to do any work that way, right? Just kickback and let your partner go to town. I guess it would have to be with someone you trust, though.”

“Yeah, Eds. I guess I’m never with anyone I trust.”

It’s sad how he says it. Eddie can’t let it go, “Doesn’t have to be like that. If you got out I’m sure you could find someone.”

“Maybe,” he sits next to Eddie on the bed, offering him some of his pretzels. 

Reluctantly, Eddie repositions to sit properly, taking a handful from the bag as Richie flips through the channels. Once it’s settled, _Shaun of the Dead_ , they both relax easily against the headboard. Eddie’s arm is on fire where it’s pressed against Richie's but he ignores it as Richie’s doing his best British Guy, saying the lines with the characters, _You’ve got red on you_. 

He’s good at it, now. Much better than he had ever been as a kid. 

As they watch Shaun’s tribulations through the dead to save his girlfriend, Eddie's mind never leaves Richie. “So, who was it?” He asks, intentionally vague.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“Which one of us did you have a crush on?”

Richie coughs a little, insisting, “No one!”  
  
“See, I thought we were all in love with Bev, but I was mistaken about a few things back then, what with you liking dick and all. So, come on. Tell me. Who was it? Bill, right? Yeah, that’s okay. I know it was Bill. Before Bev got initiated I think we all had a crush on Bill.”

“Well, you have a point there,” Richie chuckles. “Nah, it wasn’t Bill. But, you know, there was this one boy. We didn’t hang out until after you left, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie can’t help but feel jealous, irrational as it is. 

“Yeah, it’s actually pretty fucked up. It was, uh, Connor Bowers.”

“Oh, fuck. Yeah, I think I remember him.”

“Yeah. At first I thought he hated me. I killed his cousin, I get it. But he kept finding reasons to talk to me. Like, he actually _wanted_ to hang out. We started going to movies together. I think he was the one who introduced me to Gray. Gray knew Henry too. Always knew what a psycho he was. I think they worked together at the plant outside of town. But anyway, Connor wasn’t mad about it. He understood. You remember Henry went through his whole fuckin’ group of friends. Everyone forgets, it wasn’t just his dad and all those missing kids. Patrick, Vic Criss, uh, who else- oh Moose, remember him? Well, if Connor had been there that day, Henry would have killed him too. So, he told me he always felt grateful. Like it would have been a matter of time before Henry would have gotten to him.”

“Yeah, wow. I can see that. So, uh, you two dated then?”

Richie shrugs, “I guess as much as you can in Derry. Not really, though. We found, like, secret places to make out. That’s really all it was.”

“Did you take him to the clubhouse?” Eddie doesn’t know why he holds his breath when he asks. Maybe because he spent too long replaying long afternoons in the hammock with Richie to have the image of it sullied by the presence of Connor Bowers.

Richie smiles, “Of course not! That haven was Losers only.”

That warms Eddie’s heart. “What happened to you two?”

“Eh,” Richie scratches his arm, “You know, it wasn’t anything serious. Didn’t go on very long. We were both in denial about being gay for starters. We didn't really talk about it but if it did come up we always said we were just fucking around. As far as I know he might not have ever come out. He could be married to a woman with kids for all I know." Eddie tries not to bristle at that, hitting a little too close. "Eventually we both moved away. How about you? You still carrying a torch for our dear Beverly? Did you see she owns that clothing line with her husband? You’re single now, right? You gonna track her down and break up their marriage?”

Eddie laughs at the idea, “No. I don’t think I’m the homewrecking type. Too much effort.”

Richie hums in reply. They’re quiet a moment more before Richie admits, “I did always like you in your shorts, if we’re thinking back on ancient history.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie says, “Yeah, okay. Bet you got off on my fanny pack, too.”

“Oh, yeah. So hot, Eds. Like, which pocket is gonna have the alcohol wipes and which will have the bandaids? You were a man of mystery. Really got me goin’.”

“Shut up,” Eddie nudges his shoulder against Richie’s to try to silence him, but it only encourages him to laugh harder.

Despite his frustration from earlier in the evening, Eddie finds time passes far too easily. Soon it’s dark and late and they both decide it’s time to turn in for the night. After Eddie emerges from the bathroom he sees Richie standing awkwardly next to the bed holding up the handcuffs.

“You fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now?” Eddie frowns.

“Eds, come on.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that, Richie. I promise you I’m not going to run away, and if I do, you know where I live, right? Come on,” he pleads.

“Sorry, man. I won’t be able to sleep if I’m half worried about you not taking this seriously.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Richie. You’re a fuckin’ dick, you know that?” Eddie shakes his head as he climbs under the covers, kicking his feet a little too petulantly. He offers his wrist with his middle finger promptly displayed as Richie slaps the cool metal against his skin, latching it tight.

He lies awake too long that night, sleep evading him as his thoughts run over everything he’s gone through the past two days. There’s a hyper awareness of where Richie’s body is nearly touching his that keeps him from relaxing.

Eddie’s never had sex with a man before and he can’t stop himself from thinking about it. The plan was to do things right; get a divorce then deal with dating later. He didn't even know where to begin in pursuing things with another man, but that was fine because he wasn't ready anyway. Only now, holding onto that plan is useless and his inexperience is glaringly obvious. Dealing with his insecurity and inadequacy was supposed to be a burden for Future Eddie, but through some act of fate the first boy he’d ever been attracted to is lying next to him in the bed they’re sharing. And it’s crazy, it’s fuckin’ crazy, because Richie is holding him against his will, more or less. He's literally handcuffed. But he still wants him. He wants to curl his arms around him and feel the transformation his body has gone through to become this man he barely recognizes today. His mind supplies memories of how it felt to have Richie pressing him into the mattress that first night when he tried to run, only to anger him all over again.

He _should_ be angry. 

And he is. 

He _is._

Eddie reminds himself just how angry as he listens to Richie’s soft breath even out. At some point Eddie must sleep too, because the next thing that registers is being startled awake with the dull pain driving into his shin. It’s an alarming way to wake, being unable to move because Richie’s legs are tangled in his own. The thrashing he bears witness to is unsettling while Richie whines fitfully next to him, still asleep. 

Eddie’s wrist is pulled to the side as he kicks. “Fuck,” Eddie groans, rubbing at his brow with his free hand. “Rich! Richie, you’re having a nightmare,” Eddie tries to shake him gently but Richie is unmoving. 

“Not the knife-” Richie cries softly. 

Eddie turns, the best he can manage being attached to a fitful sleeper, and rubs gently against his arm. “Shh, Richie, it’s okay. It’s not real. You’re here with me.” Waking him would be far more efficient, but Eddie enjoys the way he’s allowed to touch Richie while he’s asleep. Under the dark of the room with no pressure, it’s a secret. Richie begins to calm as Eddie continues to soothe him. With a reckless abandon, he curls into his side. It’s what they did as kids when Richie would sneak in through his window. Even then Eddie knew he should wake him, but especially then he preferred to take his stolen tenderness from the boy who he was certain would tease him if he ever found out how he’d found solace in the shameful warmth between them.

So fuck it.

Eddie holds him, resting his head near his shoulder, and finds the comfort he so often sought in his youth, finally falling asleep to the sounds of Richie’s calming heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit! The response the first chapter has gotten is amazing! Thank you guys so much for all the comments and kudos and encouragement. It's been a huge motivator for me (I wasn't planning on drawing anymore from the chapters but I was so excited about all positive response... so here we are.) I'm very pro-fanart, for the record - I'd love to see what other people come up with!
> 
> Rats Off To Ya! Is a shirt by Tim and Eric from Tom Goes to the Mayor (one which Bill Hader and I both own ❤).
> 
> Find me on tumblr: candle-jill


	3. Chapter 3

Richie’s awake by the time Eddie’s blinking back into the world. This time he’s doing pull ups with one of those bars over the frame of the bathroom door. Eddie always considered getting one himself, though never did when he realised the appeal of working out far away from home and, more importantly, his wife. 

“The fuck did you get that?” Eddie’s voice scratches.

Richie doesn’t stop as he replies simply, “I keep it in the car.” His legs cross at the ankles as he continues, “Not all the places I stay at have gyms so it helps.”

Pulling himself away from the sight, and the peculiar image of Richie being some weird kind of hotel gym rat, Eddie groans rubbing his face and gets out of bed. Rifling through his newly purchased duffle bag, he finds his own pair of gym shorts and considers them briefly.

“Hey, you really think you can outrun me?” 

Lifting himself enough to stand, Richie asks, “What do you have in mind, Eds?”

* * *

Okay. 

So. 

Richie can run.

Eddie can keep up with him, but Richie is fast. 

Upon Eddie’s insistence, they stretch before their jog. Even Richie, though mockingly so, performing a shitty impression of Jane Fonda, grunting pseudo-sexually the entire time he bends over. Eddie pretends to ignore him. The motel they’re at isn’t too densely populated, and there are decent enough roads and sidewalks, but he’s starting to worry it may be a mistake to challenge Richie. Eddie jogs a few times a week at home, but feels self conscious in a way he never has before, half measuring his strides against Richie's as their feet hit the pavement. 

“You goin’ for endurance or speed here?” Richie asks with an amused, humoring smile that Eddie would very much like to punch off his goddamn face.

“You’re actually up for a race?” Honestly, Eddie’s just happy to be out enjoying the air. Their pace has been steady, Eddie isn’t tired yet and he’s confident he could win because his stamina is excellent, fuck you very much, but he’d love gloating rights of a speed challenge. 

“Bring it, Edward.” 

Eddie scoffs, “Alright. That tree over there.” He points in the distance to an open field of a park a few blocks away.

“Which tree? There are like fifty fuckin’ trees.”

“What tree do you think, dickwad? The- the creepy ass motherfucker with the trunk, like, underground.”

“Oh, the witchy tree! Okay, Eds. You gonna count down? You need a head start?”

“If I win I don’t want you handcuffing me tonight.”

“Nope. Not in the cards.” Richie’s breathing hard, “How about winner gets to drive to Richmond?”

“Oh, hell yes!” Eddie grins, “Alright, ready?”

They continue to run at an even pace until Eddie counts down, and when he yells “GO!” they take off at a sprint. 

Eddie’s arms pump hard as he pushes himself ahead of Richie, but Richie keeps up. He’s surprised he’s able to so effortlessly. Persisting, Eddie fights harder to propel himself forward, his only option is to win. He needs it. He needs to know he’s better than him at _something_. But he can feel himself struggling. They’d been going too long already and this last burst is too much.

Only, to his surprise, Richie is slowing as well. 

They’re still close as they hit the last block, feet pounding asphalt, shocks reverberating through his legs as they near the tree. Digging deeply within himself, Eddie closes his eyes and _pushes_. He has to win. He needs it. 

He _needs_ it. 

Then he’s doing it. Pulling ahead of Richie, at the last second he reaches his arm out to slap the bark of the tree before Richie’s own lanky limbs can connect.

Collapsing to the ground, Eddie lets out a victorious cheer, “Take that you-” he takes a deep breath, “motherfucker!”

Breathily, Richie laughs, joining him on the ground. “The fuck-” he huffs, “you have-” wipes his brow, “asthma.”

Closing his eyes, Eddie never really considered it before, his endurance for physical activity never leaves him short of breath except the normal kind, but he ignores it. “You really gonna let me drive?”

“Sure,” Richie heaves. 

Blinking up at the cloudless blue sky, Eddie smiles. The chill from the morning disappeared quickly when they began and now he is sweating from the warmth and exertion. Turning his head, Eddie smiles at Richie whose own eyes are closed. He has his contacts in. Eddie misses his glasses. 

“Fuck,” Eddie says softly, “That felt good.”

Chuckling quietly, Richie concedes, “Doing some cardio every once and awhile doesn’t feel too bad.”

“You probably do,” Eddie tries to find the word before settling on, _“this,_ often, right?”

“You mean running and fights and shit? Nah,” he blinks, squinting up to the sky, “Mostly point and shoot.”

“Hmm,” Eddie closes his eyes. 

Richie’s the one to stand first. Extending his hand to Eddie, it feels like he’s offering him something more than just the help up. A doorway to a whole world Eddie’s never considered. It’s pathetic, he knows, but if Richie offered he might be curious enough to step through. Grabbing his hand, warm and strong, Richie pulls him to his feet. Eddie holds onto him too long, but then, so does Richie. 

The pounding in his chest is too loud, it’s a giveaway for sure, but Richie isn’t running now. Eddie rubs his thumb over his hand and smiles at the blush that finds its way to Richie’s cheeks. Unfortunately, it’s enough to break the spell because Richie pulls his hand away quickly and turns. 

“I’m gonna climb the witchy tree!” Richie doesn’t wait for an answer as he runs to a low hanging branch and begins climbing, lifting himself up effortlessly.

“What the fuck! Get down!” Eddie shouts. “You’re gonna break your fuckin’ neck! You're too old to climb trees, Richie!” He calls after him but finds a footing and follows him anyway.

* * *

Getting out of the shower this time, after very decidedly jerking off in the privacy of the perfect water pressure, Eddie feels more in control than ever as he walks out in only tight black boxer briefs. He might have been more modest in the beginning had he not been so irate, but after witnessing Richie blush from merely holding hands, Eddie becomes intoxicated with the idea of seeing more of his flustered state. 

Slowly, deliberately, he dries his hair. Very intentionally, he _accidentally_ drops the towel and bends over when he knows Richie is watching from the corner of his eye. The pounding in his chest is different now and it feels good to have someone’s gaze on him. Interaction between them is loaded, thick from the hunger he feels radiating off of Richie. He may be stronger than Eddie physically, but Eddie’s not entirely powerless.

The whole thing would be novel if it weren’t for whom the man so blatantly checking him out is _._ Now that he remembers and has been supplied the much needed context, Richie always did have the corner of his eye trained on him. Eddie's teenage self would be damn fucking proud that Richie is still looking his way. 

And terrified. 

Mostly terrified. 

Okay, maybe his adult self is a little terrified, but Richie still doesn’t know he’s gay, so he holds onto the safety of that knowledge and revels in the way he can drive him a little crazy. 

The chair makes a loud clashing sound, as it’s pushed into the table when Richie stands abruptly. “Um. I’m gonna, uh- take a shower. Now.” 

The door to the bathroom closes quickly before Richie has the chance to remember that he’s supposed to tie Eddie to the chair. Smiling smugly to himself, Eddie counts it as a win. He’s changed and ready for the rest of the day by the time Richie emerges.

It’s a miraculous thing how fast the time passes between them before Richie has his set that evening. Being around Richie is easy and Eddie finds himself endlessly fascinated by his life. Richie continues to shrug it aside, but on the rare instance that he’s willing to indulge, he keeps Eddie on the edge of his seat. And maybe he hadn’t been as right as he thought about the kinds of men Richie is up against- and it is always men- because they certainly do appear to be the most cruel and depraved creatures Eddie can imagine after listen to his stories (Eddie thinks so even having been raised by Sonia Kaspbrak). 

In one tale, Richie was watching from across the street, waiting for his mark to be alone, when he saw the man push a young child too hard against the wall, hand around his throat, pulling a knife on the poor kid. He booked it inside, where the kid had collapsed unconsciously to the floor, and Richie did not hesitate for a second to put a bullet between his eyes. He wasn’t able to sleep for a month after that. Too many memories of Bowers with his own knife and what he had seen him do to Georgie.

Eddie is still desperate for that story as well, but Richie won’t budge. One week. Eddie promised him he’d give him a week so he rolls his eyes and says, “Fine! Fine!” until Richie’s ready to supply him with the next adventure.

They’re not all hits either. The way he talks about life on the road, using a catalogue of voices, more than he’d ever had as a kid, for all the characters he imitates are wildly entertaining. Eddie knows Richie’s playing it up because he has him waiting with rapt attention, always the captive audience, but Eddie doesn’t mind in the slightest. 

He should (Richie’s a fucking murder, why does he have to keep reminding himself?), but he doesn’t.

When they get into the club for Richie’s gig, Eddie doesn’t know what to expect of his set. It’s only an open mic night, not a designated slot, but Eddie’s own stomach is a bundle of nerves. He finds it unnecessary because Richie is more than prepared for his tight-five, opening with an introduction, mumbling his name which quickly turns confident as he slips into an exaggerated Californian accent. A character he’s named Brad, a surfer, has the audience rolling before he moves easily onto his New Yorker. Eddie thinks that one could use some work, but overall he has to admit, he’s good. He ends his sliver of “stage” time (more specifically a lit corner of the bar) with an eerily accurate Baltimore accented character winning a match against the New Yorker. He has the audience cheering as he gives a wave and steps down. 

Handing him a pint, Eddie smiles, “That was great, Rich.”

“Yeah?” He beams.

“Can’t wait to see what you do with more time.”

“Baby, I don’t need more time to make sure you have fun, _"_ Richie winks at him unabashedly. 

“You tryin’ to warn me you got a quick trigger?” He might reveal too much but watching Richie spit his drink back into the glass is worth it. Eddie gives him a friendly slap on the back. 

“Careful. You flirt with me like you might be interested,” Richie answers instead.

“Eh,” he shrugs easily, “Whatever hypothetical dude I’m fucking better not be a minuteman, is all I’m saying. He’s gotta give me something to work with at least.”

“Yeah?” Richie’s eyes are glowing with mirth, “What else is it you look for in a _hypothetical_ man?” 

“Hmm,” Eddie purses his lips in mock concentration, “Difficult question. Haven’t given it much thought.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you haven’t. Let me try. You don’t seem like the Grindr type. I don’t think our Eds is out lookin' for random hookups.” Eddie’s about to protest when Richie interrupts, “But! For the right person you’re willing to get down and wild. You like to pretend like you’re all uptight, upstanding citizen. You did the same thing when we were kids, remember? All the parents loved you because you were so well behaved, cute little Eds. Until you start poking the twink. Deep down you were as loudmouthed and rotten as the rest of us.”

“The rest of the guys or just you, Rich?”

Richie licks his lips after a sip, “You tell me.”

“I seem to remember it was always you.” He holds Richie’s eyes, gleaming back at him behind his glasses. Eddie loves those glasses. He’s not _his_ Richie without them. There’s a dizziness in the warmth he feels from the alcohol and the room around them engulfing him. He feels brave. Or maybe it’s because Richie is too close. Did he lean in? Is he going to kiss him? 

_Do I want him to?_

Not really. Not in public. 

_It’s dirty, Eddie Bear._

But Eddie’s eyes drop down to his lips anyway. 

“Eds-” 

Turning away, Eddie grips his bottle to throw back the last of his beer. He’s definitely not drunk enough for this.

“-you wanna get out of here?” Richie asks. He asks with that tone. That _inflection._ The one that so clearly means what he’s not saying.

“We’re not fucking tonight, Rich,” Eddie finally settles on. “I’m still a married man, afterall.” 

“Don’t think it counts when she tries to have you killed.”

“What’s the count for fuckin’ the one responsible for doing the killing? Tryin’ to Stockholm Syndrome me here? I feel like the dynamic of this power struggle between us might put a wrench in those plans of yours.”

“They’re not _my plans,_ I’m just sayin’ if you want to fuck I am more than down for that, Eddie baby. And you’re givin’ me all kinds of mixed signals. Don’t deny it. See, you said we’re not fucking _tonight_ . Now, that implies there might be a night in which we _are_ fucking.”

Eddie shoots him a knowing smirk, “Maybe I just like fuckin’ _with_ you?”

Richie ignores him to add, “If I had any game I’ll tell you all the filthy little things I’d like to do to you once we get back to the motel. I’d tell you to gird your loins because, baby, they’ll be rockin’ it harder than diamonds before the door to our room even slams shut behind us.”

“Yeah?” Eddie replies easily, “Too bad you’re not smooth. What about this, though. We can fuck as soon as you quit your day job. How about that?”

“ _‘Quit my day job,’_ ” he repeats sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Alright. I get it. You’re not interested.”

“No, I’m serious.” Eddie leans forward, feigning courage he never knew he possessed, “If you ever get out of, you know, _that_ line of work, you look me up and maybe we can, uh- figure something out.”

“What, like you’d let the gay guy blow you out of the goodness of your heart?” Richie scoffs. “Well, gee. Thanks, Eddie.”

“No, more like I’d let the gay guy fuck me in the ass out of the goodness of my prostate.”

Richie stares, “Wait.” He blinks. “What? What’s happening? What just happened here?”

“I’m gay, dipshit.” Eddie shakes his head, “Why’d you think I wanted a divorce?” He doesn't really mean to tell him, not really, but it's easy the way it spills from his mouth.

“I don’t know, man. Your wife sounds like a piece of work all on her own without adding you liking cock into the equation.” Richie leans closer, “You actually like cock?”

“Maybe,” Eddie shrugs. Richie’s the first person he’s ever come out to, and he’s not entirely sure how he feels. He knows he’s too calm, probably due to the alcohol. He should be all sweating and anxiety personified, but Richie’s reaction to the big revelation is more than distracting enough to keep Eddie from spiraling and thinking too deeply about what the hell he’s just said.

“Stop fuckin’ with me,” Richie hisses, in lieu of the celebratory congratulations Eddie had half been expecting.

“What?”

“You’re really gay?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs.

Richie blinks at him.

Eddie scowls. “Well. Is that all? No, ‘thanks for telling me?’ You’re not going to express gratitude about me being a homo?”

“No, no, no. Wait a minute.” Richie glares at him, crossing his arms and ignoring his question, he asks, “Wait, you mean the last couple days, bending over, walking around, frankly completely indecently, I- I wasn’t imagining it? That was on purpose?”

“Eh, I guess. Not like you were any better, whippin’ out your little pull up bar. Flexing your biceps.”

“I was working out! I thought you were straight.”

“You were flirting with me!”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not new. I always flirted with you. That was, like, our thing.”

Eddie watches him carefully, processing that new information. Because it was new to him. “You mean, when we were kids?”

“Uh, yeah. Oh, Eds, I was crazy about you.”

“No. You had Connor-”

“The poorest substitute for my broken heart when you moved away. Eddie, you were always the one. You asked before, remember? Shaun of the Dead-” He holds his hands to his heart mockingly, “For whom would I traipse through hell or greywater?” Dropping them, he continues, “Who would I take a blood oath for, promising to always protect? _You,_ dude. And before you even ask again, yeah, your fuckin’ fanny pack really did it for me.”

“Really?” His voice sounds small to his own ears.

“You can’t be that surprised.”

He’s not, not really.

But hearing Richie say it outloud makes his stomach leap. He feels a lump in the back of his throat. It was years ago, of course, over twenty. But any hope he’d had that they had something special seemed like wishful thinking. Only now he knows it was true. 

“Hell, if _that’s_ not enough to get in your pants then I’m out of ideas,” Richie shrugs.

“You had to ruin it,” Eddie scowls.

“What?” Richie smirks at him and Eddie wants to slap it off his face.

“We were having a moment,” Eddie says dully.

“We were?” Richie asks.

“Yeah, I was just about to go back to the motel and suck your dick.” 

“Seriously?”

“No!” Eddie laughs. 

“You’re a dick. You don’t tease a man about that.”

Settling into something relaxed seems an impossible task after that conversation. A heat bubbles softly between them, Eddie can feel the air charged as Richie leans in to him. Touching more, brushing fingers, a hand on his shoulder as he insists on Eddie’s full attention.

Richie’s always had Eddie’s full attention.

They return to the motel eventually and he doesn’t know what Richie is expecting but Eddie has no intention of fucking him. 

He means it. 

At least not tonight.

Though, he can admit that fucking his first love over twenty years later certainly has an appeal. And maybe he’ll revisit the thought in the near future. Through the haze of alcohol it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, actually. There’s really no real reason why they shouldn’t- 

Except that Richie’s a fucking murderer.

Which he keeps forgetting.

“Fuck,” Eddie sighs to himself while rubbing his face in frustration. Holding out his wrist, he waits for the cold metal to slap around his tender skin without complaint, but not without a stern glare flashing at Richie in their shared bed. 

“Night, Eds,” Richie whispers, clicking off the light after securing the other half of the bracelet on his own wrist.

Eddie smiles to himself in the dark, because there’s no reason for him to lower his voice but the endearing charm Richie exudes means that he still felt the need to do so. It makes Eddie’s skin feel warm like sleepovers and stolen touches of youth all over again. Only, they don’t have to be hidden away so delicately anymore.

Turning on his side facing Richie, Eddie says equally as quiet, “Fuck it.” He wraps his free arm around Richie’s stomach, burning warm, and nuzzles against his shoulder. He always was a side sleeper. “Night, Rich.”

He’s nearly asleep when Richie says softly, “I just want to check. This isn’t an invitation to-”  
  
“We’re not fucking. We’re cuddling. Go the fuck to sleep.”

“Right,” Richie says, patting Eddie’s arm that rests on his stomach. “Night.”

They both fall asleep easily. Richie doesn’t have any nightmares.

* * *

The drive is under three hours and Eddie bitches about traffic for the better part of it. The fact that he’s driving further from home is inconsequential to the happiness blooming warm in his chest. For the first time in what feels like years, he’s happy. Freedom from behind the wheel, the view of the open road in front of him, and Richie cracking jokes by his side; Eddie’s downright giddy. 

It’s disturbing really. 

He’s barely considered what’s going on back in New York. 

“Huh,” Eddie says absently.

“What?” Richie’s head lolls to the side, properly displaying his prescription sunglasses that Eddie can't decide make him look hot or like a douchebag. Probably both.

“So, like, do you think Myra was looking to kill me for revenge for wanting a divorce, or was she trying to cash in on the life insurance? I talked to my lawyers and had paperwork drawn but she didn’t sign anything.” Eddie scratches his freshly shaven face. “You know, I think she wanted the money. No, I know it. Calculating bitch. Well, ha!”

“Ha?” Richie asks, confused.

“No body, no death. No money. Suck on that one, Myra.”

“Huh, yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“I wonder what bullshit she’s spinning right now? She was upstate with family, but work would have called her. I’m not replying to emails or calls and I wasn’t in the office Thursday or Friday. They’ve definitely done a wellness check.” The scene of Myra faking tears plays out in his mind as he continues, “The worst fuckin’ thing of all is that I actually don’t give a fuck what’s going on at work. You know, I had some tight fuckin’ deadlines to meet with one of our top clients this week and I just don’t give a single shit about, like, any of it.”

“The worst part of your wife hiring a hitman and you and having to go into hiding with the person sent to kill you is that you like having time off work?” Richie deadpans. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Eddie shrugs, “I don’t know! I mean, at the very least I thought I liked my job, but I think I just liked being away from her.”

“Are you telling me you’re gonna run away with me and assume a new identity? You look like a _Dixon Butts_ to me.”

“No,” Eddie huffs, _“Fuck_ no. That is still _not_ the plan, Richie. No, I’m saying-” he shakes his head, “I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying.”

“Eddie-” Richie’s voice is falsely saccharine, a sing-song cadence which Eddie knows is accompanying his teasing smile, though he refuses to turn his head to confirm. “Eds. Eddie baby. You like hanging out with me. Come on. Admit it. Come on.”

Flipping him off, Eddie asks, “Do I like spending time with _you_ more than I like living with the woman that tried to have me killed?”

“Me, the one sent to kill-”

“Shut up, dude. Yeah. Fine. Whatever. It hasn’t been so bad, I guess.” 

“Hot damn! Eddie likes me!” Richie rejoices.

“Eddie _tolerates_ you,” he corrects. 

“Uh, huh. Sure.” 

“Fuck you.”

“Yes, please. Pull this car over right now and I’ll show you how it’s done, baby. How much are you packin’ anyway? Are you one of those short guys with a big dick or is your Napoleon Complex an overcompensation for lack of inches below the belt? I’ve been dying to know. For years. Years!”

“God, shut up,” Eddie shakes his head in annoyance.

“Top or bottom, Eds?”

“Oh, actually I’m- none of your fucking business!”

“Could be my _fucking_ business is all I’m saying. I’m flexible, okay? I will make this work. Whatever you need, wherever you want me, I’m ready. I can be ready.”

“You’re a dick.”

Richie’s too quiet after that. Eddie can feel eyes on him. In an immediately regretful decision, Eddie turns to see that knowing smile, “You ever get road head, Ed?” He fucking waggles his eyebrows like the fucking dick he is.

Gesturing wildly, Eddie shouts, “Will you shut the fuck up?” Richie cackles as Eddie frowns at the road in front of them. He’s not thinking about it. He’s not. 

“You change your mind, you know where to find me,” Richie adds smugly, adjusting his sunglasses.

He won’t. 

Eddie can practically feel the wink Richie’s giving him behind tinted lenses. 

He grips the wheel tighter and cranks the music.

* * *

Following the GPS takes them to a suburb Eddie’s never heard of, which isn’t surprising being that he knows fuck-all about Virginia. Pulling the car into a tight spot with ease, he takes the keys from the ignition and tosses them to Richie in the passenger’s seat.

“How much time do we have to burn?” Eddie asks, stepping out of the car. He opens the back door to retrieve his bag, throwing the strap over his shoulder, as Richie does the same.

“Couple hours,” he slams the door shut, pressing the lock button with a honk. “But, um, I’m a little more nervous for this one.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie smiles wide, ready to torment him as they approach the hotel. It’s near some kind of city center, complete with zipping noises of cars breezing past on too busy roads. “Trashmouth has stage fright? Never thought I’d see the day.” 

“Not exactly,” he walks through the automatic doors, Eddie trailing close behind. “Okay, yeah, a little,” Richie admits.

Eddie doesn’t have time to say anything further before they step up to the desk and wait to check in. He notices the side-eyed glance thrown at him when Richie declares _one bed_ is fine. Eddie thinks about protesting but isn’t going to bring up the fact that even though he’s been handcuffed to Richie for the last few nights he has no plans of slipping out while he’s asleep. He also notes the girl behind the desk doesn’t bat an eye at the obvious implication of two men in a shared room with a single bed. It gives him a thrill because the last time he had seen Richie they couldn’t so much as hold hands in public without fear of death, had they wanted to. 

Now that he’s thinking of it, the thought of running does briefly cross his mind as Richie slides over a credit card on the faux marble counter. It’s the only time since they’ve been outside the room that he’s seriously considered an escape. It’s not like Richie would start a scene in the hotel lobby if Eddie demanded they call the police because he’s being held against his will. They’d probably just think he was crazy anyway, though he allows the fantasy to play out in detail before shaking it from his mind. Richie would probably flee, leaving Eddie to fend for himself anyway.

Despite the annoyance he feigned at Richie in the car, he has been having an annoyingly good time with him. It’s Saturday anyway. It’s not like he has to be at work over the weekend. And there’s still the matter of Gray and Fuchs to set straight. Seperating from Richie doesn’t make statistical sense to his survival, so really, there is zero threat of him running. He just wishes Richie would believe him.

Plucking the key card from Richie’s hand, Eddie leads them to the room. First floor, winding around in an anonymous line of identical doors, he finds it easily. Sliding the card into the reader, the light blinks green and he opens the door. He isn’t expecting much but it’s definitely a step up from the previous room. 

Shoving his bag into Richie’s arms, he orders, “Don’t put them down yet.” Stepping confidently to the bed, Eddie rips the sheets back and checks behind the headboard.

“Are you gonna do this every place we stop?” Richie sighs impatiently. 

Walking to the other side, Eddie replies, “Fuck you. I’m not gonna get bed bugs from some fucking motel in Fucksville, Virgina. Not that that matters anyway. You can still get them from five star luxury hotels. Get off my dick, Richard.”

“Admittedly not how I wanted to hear you say that,” Richie snorts a laugh which Eddie refuses to look at. 

Once he’s satisfied the beds are safe, he takes his bag from Richie to pull out the clothes he’s planning on wearing for the evening. He frowns at his jeans which are wrinkled more than he’d prefer, and shakes out the deep blue, fitted polo that isn’t as crisp as he wants. Fumbling with the ironing board he arranges everything, turning the iron on. 

“I can’t believe you get stage fright, dude. When the hell did talking in front of an audience ever intimidate you?” Tapping the metal of the iron, once he’s satisfied it’s hot enough he begins pressing his shirt.

“It’s not the audience,” Richie plops himself on the bed. “It’s my material. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Five minute open-mic nights are easy because I just hit it with the same formula every time. Just switch around the accents and hope like fuck I remember where I’m at. But it’s a _set_ tonight, twenty minutes, and they’re actually gonna pay me for this shit so I have to be good.”

“No shit?” Eddie flips his shirt. “That’s pretty fuckin’ rad, bro.”

“In theory, yes, it _is_ rad, _bro._ It’s only fifty bucks and it’s actually more of a dare from the bartender that I can even make it through the whole thing.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Alright. So, what’s your biggest fear? Forget your material? Piss yourself on stage?”

“Okay, well see, I hadn’t consider those before, so fuck you. But no, actually it’s the heckling. It’s happened a few times. I think I handle it alright usually, but sometimes it just kind of fucks me up for a second.”

“Well,” Eddie hangs his shirt in the little closet then places his jeans on the ironing board, “You have me tonight. If some motherfucker tries to mess with you on stage, I’ll rip them a new asshole.” The denim doesn’t flatten out the wrinkles as easily as his cotton shirt, but he feels like he might be making progress.

“You’d do that?” Richie’s voice is small.

It’s jarring enough that Eddie lifts his head to meet his eyes, “Of course. Blood oath, remember?” Eddie waves his hand that still has the faded scar in his palm. “Not gonna let anyone take down Trashmouth,” he smiles, pressing the iron back into the denim. “That’s my job.”

* * *

Richie’s nerves get much worse when they arrive to the bar. There’s a real stage this time, or at least it’s better than the last one. A raised platform in front of a crowd with enough space to allow bands and other kinds of entertainment. Only now there’s a solitary mic in a spotlight. Richie has been tense as hell since they got there, looking like he’s on the verge of emptying his stomach. Eddie pats his back in a kind of comforting distraction, which he isn’t sure works, but it’s the only idea he has. 

Sitting near the stage, Eddie wants to be close so he can shut down any asshole who dare to throw insults. Between living in New York and growing up with Stan and Richie, he’s learned from the best. The need to protect Richie doesn't really catch him off-guard him. He’s well acquainted with the scared thirteen year old within himself, cowering from Bowers, hiding in the Barrens, terrified to tell anyone he’s gay. But Richie never made him feel that way. Richie had faced the devil and won. And after all that, he defied even Sonia to sneak into his bedroom with an odd sort of confidence Eddie himself would never possess. But he wanted to. He _wanted_ to be as brave as Richie. After everything, he'd always tried to look out for him in the way he could.

So now, if shouting at assholes will help Richie feel confident, well hell, Eddie is made for that. Under the table he grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze, “Come on, Rich. You can do this. You got it, okay?” 

“Yeah, I got this. I can do this,” he echos, not at all convincingly.

A waitress approaches their table and sets down a glass in front of Richie, “Shot of tequila from Kevin.”

Richie’s head whips around, “Fuck you, Kevin!” He flips him off as he throws back the drink. Eddie can see the man Richie yelled at, chuckling to himself behind the bar.

“Can I get you anything else?” She asks with a smile. 

They give her their order and she leaves as Eddie asks, “What the hell was that?”

“Alright, last time I was here I _may_ have made a complete ass out of myself on stage. I was a _little_ too drunk and a _lot_ too mouthy. What can I say? I’ve learned nothing from the follies of my youth. Anyway, Kevin there, that asshole,” Richie points violently, through gritted teeth, “promised me fifty bucks if I was ever brave enough to come embarrass myself again.”

“Is that why you’re-” Eddie gestures at him, “like this?”

“Oh, baby, there isn’t a therapist alive that can figure out what created the enigma that is Richard Wentworth Tozier. But is that why I’m trying not to yak my guts out? Uh, yeah. Turns out if you bomb at a bar once it doesn’t matter how much you make up for it around the country. Doesn’t wipe out the nerves.”

“You’re gonna do great, Rich,” Eddie assures again.

He can tell Richie is still unconvinced, though he doesn’t need to be. 

Richie kills it.

After he takes the stage and his first joke lands, he visibly relaxes under the spotlight. He wins over the audience with ease. Working through his carefully planned set, he’s a natural in front of the crowd. Twenty minutes are up too quickly before he receives his applause and weaves his way through the crowds pulling Eddie with him to the bar.

“Pay up, you motherfucker!” Richie exclaims joyfully pointing to the bartender. _Kevin._

“Yeah, yeah, alright. You didn’t choke this time. Congrats, Richie,” he has the bills fanned between his fingers. 

Plucking them from him, Richie smiles wide, “You know, I prefer to do my choking _after_ a set.” He winks, leaning in towards him.

“Yeah, I remember,” Kevin returns the smile easily.

And Eddie doesn’t like that. He does not like that at all. Frowning, he crosses his arms as Kevin pours each of them a drink on the house. Eddie almost doesn’t take it on principle. He doesn’t know what principle it is. It’s not like Richie can’t fuck whomever he wants. It’s not like Eddie cares.

Except-

-he does, as irrational as it is.

Maybe it’s just lingering jealousy? 

This Kevin guy clearly knows more about Richie than he does. He’s known him more intimately than Eddie has. Eddie’s reluctantly regretting not taking Richie up on the offer for the blow job in the car earlier in the day, because at least that would have been something. 

Not that it’s a competition, but Eddie remembers years of lingering glances and too carefully crafted brushes of skin, and fucking _Kevin_ , this fucking asshole from Virginia, knows everything about Richie that Eddie had spent years torturing himself over. 

_Shit._

Murderer or not, in that moment, Eddie knows absolutely for a fact he won’t be able to return home until he knows it too.

_Fuck._

* * *

They stumble drunkenly back to their door, Richie’s arm slung over Eddie’s shoulders protectively. Curling into him more than necessary, Eddie uses the excuse of alcohol to pat at Richie’s chest as he teases him for not being able to get the key card into the slot. Laughing, he pulls it from him and finally they’re able to get it open.

Eddie does the bare minimum of his nightly routine before falling into bed next to Richie, extending his arm without protest as Richie clasps the too familiar metal of the handcuff around his wrist. “Someday you’re gonna fuck me with these on,” Eddie mumbles. 

“What?” Richie chuckles tiredly next to him, enough to make the bed shake. “What did you just say?”

“Oh, shit. Did I say that outloud?” Eddie laughs.

“You want my dick, Kaspbrak?” Richie teases, turning on his side enough to run his free hand over Eddie’s stomach.

Pushing him away, Eddie cries with a laugh, “No. No! Stop it!” 

“Still ticklish?”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, let's get back to that.”

“No, lets not. It slipped out! It won’t happen again,” Eddie turns away the best he can while his arm is stuck behind him.

“I know something else that could slip out-”

“God, shut up.”

“So-” Richie draws out, “you’ve been thinking about it?”

“Of course I’ve been thinking about it! You’re hot as hell, Rich. Especially on stage. Fuck. You’re so good up there.”

“What’s the problem then? I’m a consenting adult. _You’re_ a consenting adult.” 

The bed shifts and Eddie can feel Richie move closer. A hand once again creeps its way over his hip.

“I don't care how hot you are, I’m not sleeping with a fucking murderer,” Eddie huffs. He says it to convince himself more than anything else, but Richie’s hand freezes then lifts from Eddie’s hip. Despite it being the truth, he regrets saying it with so much venom. “Rich, I didn’t mean-”

“Yeah, you did,” he moves over to his side of the bed. 

“Richie-” 

“It’s fine, Eddie. We have a long day tomorrow. Just get some sleep.”

Eddie wants to say something more. Something to ease the tension between them. But he was never good at that. Richie is. Richie knows how to crack a joke and ease tension. Only he’s not saying anything now. He’s turned away the best he can and too much time passes between them when Eddie hears his breath is deepening, rhythmic and slow. Eddie soon follows him into a restful sleep. 

* * *

It’s the first morning Eddie wakes before Richie. He finds himself curled into him, one arm slung over his waist and his other with his hand in Richie’s where they’re cuffed together. Closing his eyes, he takes a moment to revel in it. The soft puffs of breath, the familiar way he smells. It all reminds him so much of Derry. Squeezing his eyes closed tightly, he feels like a kid again, clinging to Richie never wanting to let go. 

He doesn’t want to go back to Myra.

He doesn’t want to go back to work.

He doesn’t give a fuck about New York.

He flirts with the idea of roaming the country with Richie, booking gigs for him, a life on the road. Sleeping in late, climbing onto Richie, straddling his hips, grinding into his lap and kissing his neck to wake him. 

In this fantasy Richie’s never had to kill anyone. Not Bowers or the probably countless others. 

The curtain hadn’t been drawn fully the previous night and light breaks into the room.

“Not the clowns!” Richie mumbles, turning his head to the side.

“Hey, Trashmouth,” Eddie whispers too loudly to truly be a whisper. “Get the fuck up. I gotta piss.”

“Huh?” He groans. “Aw, fuck me.”

Eddie chuckles, “You hungover? Told you you should have had more water, dude.”

They both sit, Richie struggling more so than Eddie, still joined at the wrist. Eddie watches as Richie reaches out for the nightstand, pushing his glasses onto his face. Before Eddie realizes what he’s doing, Richie’s hand is on the metal cuffs between them and they’re swinging open, free.

“Was that even locked?” Eddie asks, rubbing his wrist absently.

“You never tried it?” Richie squints at him. “Yeah, I mean, they _are_ locked, but I figured you should have at least known that by now.”

“How’d you do it so fast?” Eddie watches this time as Richie uses a paperclip to open his half, “Huh.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Richie grumbles as he steps out of bed. Eddie immediately misses the warmth. “Don’t you need to use the bathroom?”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Climbing out of the bed, he grabs his bag to shower quickly. He’s still half asleep as he washes with the significantly better than the last, but still inferior, hotel shampoo. When he finishes and steps out onto the towel he’s laid down to avoid stepping on wet tile, he wraps another around his waist. After brushing his teeth, he pulls out his shaving bag, rubbing and examining his face, when he hears a loud thumping at the door.  
  
Opening it, he asks dryly, “Can I help you?”

Barging in, Richie goes for the toilet lifting the seat, “How late do you want to be on the road today? Nashville is, like, at least nine hours. That’s not including stops.”

Eddie turns his head to give him privacy, because he apparently doesn’t give a shit that Eddie’s standing right there, and goes back to the mirror, wiping down the fog. “You’re gonna let me drive, right?”

“I guess.” Richie flushes the toilet then promptly pulls his shirt over his head which Eddie watches through the mirror. “It’s nice having you with. It makes the drive better, you know? It makes everything a lot better.”

The genuine compliment hits him hard and unexpectedly. Stomach in knots, Eddie smiles back, pretending that his blush is from the steam of the shower. Then Richie, smiling wide, pulls down his boxers.

“Jesus Christ, Richie!” Eddie tries to shield his eyes and steal a look all at the same time.

Richie, already laughing, pulls the curtain open to reach an arm in and start the shower. “Look your fill, Eds! I don’t mind.” 

He wants to, he can admit that, but by the time he feels brave enough Richie’s already climbing in, disappearing into the shower. Swallowing back the lump in his throat, his heart is racing as he walks over to the curtain. They only have a few days left together and, while he wasn’t ready for anything to happen last night, he does want to set to rest a few things he had long spent time wondering about. One of those being what Richie looks like naked. He won’t forgive himself for having the opportunity and not taking it.

So, taking a deep breath, Eddie pulls the curtain open enough to _look his fill._

“The fuck!” Richie startles, covering himself quickly.

“You said I could,” Eddie smirks back, satisfied for having called his bluff. 

He can see the way Richie’s jaw tenses as he stares back at him, assessing him, for what Eddie isn’t sure. He doesn’t know if Richie’s wearing contacts or if he’s virtually blind, but then he drops his hands and Eddie can see what he’d spent years dreaming about. 

“What’s the verdict?” Richie asks. Eddie knows that tone, he’s just as nervous as Eddie is, but he’s exuding bravado like he’s not. 

Tilting his head to the side, he says, “I always wondered if all those big dick jokes were true.”

Richie’s hand reaches down to stroke himself, “I’m a grower, Eds. You wanna wait around and find out?”

Fighting the urge to drop his own towel and climb in, Eddie raises an eyebrow and says, “Maybe some other time, Rich.” 

Then closes the curtain and walks himself back over to the counter. His heart is racing and it’s definitely too steamed up to properly shave, but he can’t make himself leave when he knows Richie’s hand is on his dick. He wonders if he’s gonna do it- if he’d really jerk off with Eddie right there?

“You gave me a boner,” Richie says, annoyed.

Eddie returns, “Think your hand on your dick did that.”

“No,” Richie replies, “It was definitely the way you scowled at me like I’m a worthless piece of shit. Really does it for me, actually.”

Eddie frowns. “I don’t think you’re worthless,” he calls over the sound of running water. Richie doesn’t reply. Walking back over to the curtain, he pulls it open, “You’re not worthless, Rich.” 

His hand is stroking his now very hard cock and Eddie can’t look away. Yeah, he’s a grower. Not that he looked small before. But Eddie can’t tear himself from the way Richie looks stroking himself, purpling head popping in and out of his fist. 

“Maybe not entirely,” Richie agrees, eyes fluttering shut.

Eddie’s already hard, gripping the tenting towel around himself tightly like it’s the only thing keeping him from stepping into the shower. But his hand drifts low, holding pressure to his dick, rough terry cloth pressed into sensitive skin, as Richie moans under the stream of water. His chest puffs out and his broad shoulders move as his arm pumps. 

“Eds,” Richie says, eyes blinking back open despite the water running down his face, “I just wanna see-”

And yeah, Eddie can do that. 

Abandoning the only thing tethering him to sanity, he drops his towel and steps back into the steaming water. Fumbling for the little bottle of conditioner, he gets enough on his hand to provide slick relief as he strokes. 

“Fuck, Eds,” Richie bites his lower lip.

Eddie chances raising his head. No one has ever looked at him with such unabashed desire before. He feels everything in that moment. Every touch, every stolen glance, every secret smile Richie gave only to him, every laugh he pulled out of Eddie. He remembers loving him so fiercely and fearing so deeply for what would happen if he ever found out. And here they were, all these years later. Here they finally were when they could have done this then. Eddie wonders if it would have made a difference. If he could have saved him-

Hanging his head to rest on Richie’s chest, he allows his free hand to grip his hip. Eyes unfocused, drifting to the way Richie fucks his own hand. They’re so close, his knuckles brush Richie’s thigh as his strokes himself through it, heat pooling, he’s close.

“Fuck, Eddie,” Richie sighs as he curls over, white pearling string of come hitting Eddie’s stomach and hip.

It should be disgusting. 

It’s not.

Eddie should be embarrassed at how quick it hits, all that talk of minutemen puts him to shame, when he grunts his own release, painting Richie’s thigh. _Why are his thighs so big?_ And all too soon the evidence between them is washed down the drain.

“That was so hot,” Richie breathes.

Eddie nods, staring down, afraid to meet Richie’s eyes.

“You gonna be weird about this?” Richie asks, but he sounds genuinely concerned.

Laughing, Eddie answers, “Like it’s any weirder than the rest of this past week?”

“Hey man, this is a typical day for me. Pick up the Losers one by one. Last week was Haystack’s turn. Harder to fit us both in the shower but-”

Backhandedly slapping Richie’s chest, Eddie laughs, “Hurry up, dude. I need to shave and the steam keeps fucking up the mirror.” Pulling open the curtain, he steps out, once again wrapping the towel around his waist. He decides to go change in the bedroom, leaving Richie the bathroom to himself.

He’s okay. He’s gonna be okay.


	4. Chapter 4

Driving to Nashville is less awkward than Eddie anticipates. By the time they’ve eaten (from an actual restaurant, not stale donuts from the hotel lobby) it’s already after 11:00 AM. Letting Eddie take the first shift, they make it three hours before deciding to stop for lunch. It should be weird. At the oddest moments, Eddie glances at him, thinking, _I’ve seen your dick. I watched you come._ Only to have Richie crack a joke, easing the tension he can feel building between them.

Eddie drives again after lunch, another three hour block. Somehow being literally held captive is what it takes to make him realize how suffocating his own life has been. Maybe it’s all Richie’s influence. He’s always made him feel unstoppable. 

Invincible. 

Alive. 

They eat supper to the sounds of Richie practicing new southern accents. Between bites, Eddie tries to glower at him, but he breaks easily, nearly spitting food into his napkin when he laughs. The waitress, unsure if she’s being mocked, does her job warily, so Eddie insists Richie leave her a big tip when they go.

“I hate you so much,” Eddie wipes his mouth one last time, leaning back in the booth to shake his head with a fond smile.

“Hate me so much you’ll come bang one out in the bathroom?” Richie waggles his eyebrows, “Just a quickie among us rivals.”

“You need to workshop that one, it didn’t land.”

“I know something that could land.”

Anticipating what he’s going to say next, Eddie blinks at him dryly, asking anyway with faux earnesty, “Why, what’s that, Rich?” Maybe he just wants to hear him say it? Maybe he likes the open way Richie wants him.

Leaning in, he says softly, “Your dick. My hand. That bathroom.”

Mirroring him, Eddie pushes closer, shaking his head, “Not gonna happen. That was a-”

“Don’t you dare say one time thing, Edward. You will break my poor gay heart,” he clutches his chest with a pout.

“Well, whatever it was- no equivalent is happening in a roadhouse bathroom in Tennessee.”

Richie’s pout persists until he finally relents with a knowing smile. Like he understands how much Eddie loves the way he pushes him. Eddie chooses to hide behind his glass, taking a last sip while he once again tries to forget, _I know the way you look biting back a moan._

They return to the car where Richie decides to drive the last leg of the journey and Eddie could use a break.

“Give me your phone,” Eddie demands, pulling it out of Richie’s offering hand. “I’m dying to check my email. Myra has Facebook- well it’s a joint account, I don’t use it, but it’s driving me crazy not knowing what’s on there. Why didn’t you bring my phone?”

“Uh, because I’m not an idiot?” His eyebrows furrow. “The first time she sees you check in on social media she’ll know you’re alive. Or they’d just ping the location.”

“Whatever. She’s gonna find out I’m alive eventually,” Eddie scoffs. “Open this for me,” he shoves it back once he realizes he doesn’t know Richie’s password.

“Yeah,” he unlocks the screen and hands it back. “She’s gonna find out. But not now. Don’t log into any social media. I mean it. Do not go into your email. No angry ranting tweets on reddit about the decreasing interest rate of savings accounts-” 

“You better not have all your money sitting in a fuckin’ savings account-”

“Don’t do shit,” Richie ignores him, continuing on, “You’ll be in the clear in a few days when I talk to Fuchs.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie does a vanity search anyway. Nothing much comes up there. “I’m serious, though, Richie,” he opens the Facebook app to see a single picture of Richie with the word ‘comedian’ under his name. “You’re fucking yourself over if you’re not investing.” A few posts of funny videos and memes, he keeps scrolling, forgetting entirely that he is supposed to be stalking his own account. “I’ll build you an investment portfoli- you’re friends with Kevin from the bar?” Eddie scoffs. Richie doesn’t have many friends listed, forty-three to be exact, but Kevin seems to be front and center. Eddie is tempted to check Richie’s messages, though he doesn’t because he’s not psychotic.

“You dick. I told you not to go on there.”

“I’m not on mine, I’m on yours. How else am I gonna see what she’s saying about me?”

 _“I’m_ not friends with her. You’re not gonna see shit.”

But he does. Myra has made several public posts, milking it for all it’s worth. Sharing with the world how trashed the house was and how obvious it is that Eddie has met a tragic end. “Fucking bitch,” Eddie mutters. 

“What? What did she say?”

“Oh, it’s all, ‘The police know Eddie is dead and won’t do anything to let me grieve in peace.’ It hasn’t even been a week, you cunt.”

“Yikes. Anything else?”

“No. A few coworkers posting about how much they miss- fuck you, Greg, you fucking dick. Oh, I was a joy around the office? Lit up the room? Fuck you! This asshole’s barely ever said three words to me.”

Richie laughs, “You light up _my_ life, Eds.”

“Yeah? Well, fuck you, too.” 

“God, I wish. Do you know how hard I’ve been trying?” He teases.

“Not very,” Eddie returns dully, scrolling through the messages of bullshit. People sending thoughts, prayers, condolences, his disappearance has run the gamut. Myra insists he’s dead while others try to be optimistic that Eddie will show up. “Christ,” he turns the phone screen off in disgust and tosses it gently into the center console. 

“Do you have anyone you miss back home? Friends? People you have a genuine emotional connection to?”

Rubbing his forehead, he has to admit, “No. Not really.”

“Why do you want to go back there so bad?” Richie asks, far too earnestly for Eddie’s liking.

“My life is there. My career.” That used to feel like something. It felt enough. But now he isn’t so sure. “Anyway, what else am I going to do?”

He half wants Richie to plead with him to join him one more time. It’s insanity, Eddie knows. A complete delusion. But it would be nice to hear him say it. 

He doesn’t.

Instead Richie says, “I don’t know, but hopefully it’s something that makes you happy.”

* * *

It’s nearing 11:00 PM by the time they pull up to the hotel in Nashville. Eddie barely has eyes to check it over until the door to their room opens and he realizes Richie booked a suite. There’s a livingroom which leads way to a separate bedroom. “What the fuck?” Eddie wonders outloud.

“You want the bathroom first?” Richie brings his bag over, placing it down on the table. “Oh, shit. I think there are two. Cool.” Richie ducks his head into the bedroom.

“Wait, wait!” Eddie hurries over to do a bedbug check. With a satisfied sigh, he goes into the bathroom (the one in the bedroom, Richie was right, there are two) to get ready for the night. 

By the time they’re both ready to fall asleep, it’s nearly midnight. Eddie climbs under the covers, holding his wrist out in routine for Richie to snap the handcuff around. Settling in, he tucks himself closer to Richie than he knows he should.

“Nothing’s happening between us tonight,” Eddie says.

“Uh huh,” Richie yawns.

Eddie snuggles in closer to him, “You have a nice cock, Rich.”

Richie laughs quietly at that, “You too, Eddie. Anytime you need someone to hold onto it for you, I got two capable hands, and a very eager mouth.”

Snorting out a laugh, they fall asleep soon after. 

* * *

Richie’s awake before him again. Eddie never feels him get out of bed. It’s unnerving. He’s never thought of himself as a heavy sleeper but somehow he’s dead to the world unless Richie’s kicking him awake in the night. He figures it’s due to the stress of everything.

Scratching at his bedraggled hair, Eddie walks out into the living room to find Richie sitting up at the table with perfect posture, frowning at a laptop screen, contacts in, hair neatly in place, and tracksuit on. Not how he’s grown accustomed to seeing him. It reminds him of their race to the witchy tree.

“Oh, good. You’re up,” Richie relaxes, shoulders dropping. 

“You going for a run?” Eddie asks. He could use one himself.

“Uh, maybe later?”

It’s barely eight. This little _vacation_ is the most he’s slept in in his adult life. “You’re not still drugging me, are you?” He asks, skeptically.

“No. Why, do you need something?” Richie furrows his brow in concern over the typing and clicking of his laptop. “I probably have something you could take tonight if you need it.”

Eddie waves him off. Walking closer to the table, he steals a banana and points to the screen. “What’s that?”

“I keep some material for my sets in here. Notes and things,” Richie shuts it quickly. “Say, what do you think of going for a drive in, like, seventeen minutes?”

“Precise,” Eddie mumbles around a mouthful of food. “Okay. Let me shower first,” he says suspiciously, finishing his banana. Closing the door to the bathroom behind him, he emphatically locks it. And- it’s not that he wouldn’t be down for a repeat of yesterday, because he’s game. He’s definitely interested. Interest is thoroughly piqued. 

Coming to the conclusion that yesterday was, unfortunately, pretty great, he worries his lip over it underneath the water in the shower. There had been a part of him that may have hoped that seeing Richie naked, naked in that very clearly sexual context, maybe would have shut his dick down. Turned him off the idea of men altogether. Maybe thinking he was gay was all just some hypothetical theory, and all the porn he’d spent years jerking off to was part of some fucked up trauma about not being raised with a father figure?

But Richie jizzing on him in the shower definitely put that small theoretical postulation to rest.

So, yeah. He’s definitely interested in a repeat performance of some kind.

But he’s also exceedingly concerned about Richie’s expectations. The only dick he’s ever touched is his own, and while he’s very interested in changing that, especially with Richie, he feels too insecure to deal with it on this particular morning when Richie wants to be out the door within the next ten minutes.

Instead of an encore, he’s out and ready to leave nineteen minutes later. The only thing Richie says about being late is, _“Ándale,_ Eduardo!” Then they’re out the door.

In the car, Eddie sits passenger side watching the scenery change from urban to suburban. A half an hour out and Richie parks in front of a seemingly charming neighborhood. Bikes and toys littering the yard. The kind of place where people raise their two-point-five children and keep their yippie pomeranians dashing around behind white picket fences.

“What are we doing here, Rich?” Eddie steals his phone from his hand, Richie doesn’t protest. He doesn’t answer either, he just stares ahead at a grey house down the road. Eddie shakes his head and notices that Richie has removed the lock from his phone so he can get into it.

He searches for local bars with open mic nights. So far Richie’s been on a roll. He comes alive under the spotlight and Eddie can’t get enough of it, a tangential high from seeing the success of his old friend. The longer set even more so than the open mic. It was a little rough around the edges, sure. Eddie thinks he can help tighten up some of the jokes and the pacing, but it was good. As he searches through bars he thinks that even more practice will only help Richie _hone his craft._ Eddie rolls his eyes at himself for that thought, as truthful as it may be. Clicking, scrolling, skimming, he finds the perfect bar, walking distance from their hotel. 

“Hey, Rich-”

“One sec-” Richie suddenly unbuckles his seat belt and opens the car door. “Stay here, Eddie. I mean it.” He holds a moment of intense eye contact to demonstrate he’s not fucking around. 

Eddie replies with a nod but quizzically furrowed brow, and swallows back the lump that suddenly lodged itself at the back of his throat. Then he’s watching Richie take off, walking the opposite way of the house he had been so intently studying. It occurs to Eddie just then, Richie’s working. He’s _working_. If this is part of some kind of recon or if he’s going in for it right now, it’s happening. And Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck to do. So he panics. 

His first instinct is to leave. This is the longest he’s ever been left alone and he’s a little surprised by it, but Richie took the keys, so if he leaves now he’s going on foot. He realizes he’s holding Richie’s phone. He could call the police- 

But if they take Richie away he won’t have anyone protecting him from Gray.

“Fuck!” Eddie runs his fingers through his hair, trying too hard not to panic. Failing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Turning to the phone once more, Eddie searches through it, not sure what he’s hoping to find. Text messages- empty. Email? No account attached. Facebook messages are clean. There’s absolutely nothing incriminating. Nothing to confirm what’s happening here. No suspicious apps. No weird previous search history. Frozen, save his pounding heart, increasingly rhythmic beats, he doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there, unable to decide what the hell he’s supposed to do. 

Finally, he settles on getting out of the fucking car to track him down. That’s a solid plan. He’ll just pull him out of whatever the hell he’s doing before he does it. That sounds okay. That’s definitely something he could do. He’s a man capable of doing that.

Just as he’s pretty sure he’s about to get out of the car (his hand is stretched out hovering over the handle, so really, any second now), he sees Richie emerge around the block, walking back from the direction he’d left.

"Oh, thank fuck,” he rubs his face with a sigh.

Eddie glares at him with a fury he’s grown accustomed to around Richie, as he opens the door and slides into the driver’s seat, like he didn’t do exactly what Eddie knows he did. Turning on the ignition, Richie bites his lip in concentration while Eddie bores back into him.

“Well?” Eddie asks impatiently.

“‘Well’ what?”

“Did you kill him? Wait. Don’t answer that or I won’t have plausible deniability. Fucking, goddamn it, Richie!”

“Relax. I didn’t kill anyone.” Pulling the car into drive, Richie leaves the neighborhood.

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

“I really don’t give a shit if you believe me.”

It’s terse. Not what he’s expecting. Wondering suddenly to what lengths Richie would go to to ensure Eddie never says a word about what he knows, Eddie bites back the tears stinging the back of his eyes. Crossing his arms, Eddie pockets Richie’s phone and stares out the window, not seeing a thing. His heart is pounding so fucking hard, Richie has to hear it. He has to know Eddie can’t handle this. Listening to the stories was one thing, but to be in the same fucking car when shit is going down, Eddie can’t deal with that. 

He does the only thing he can while being trapped in a silent car with a serial killer- he reasons with the situation. In the time Richie was gone Eddie is fairly certain he wouldn’t have been able to kill anyone. Then again, what the hell does he know? How long does it take to point a gun and shoot? Does Richie even have a gun on him? He didn’t see one and Eddie had definitely been looking him over. So maybe he didn’t kill anyone. It is the daytime. He’d be an idiot to do it now.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he definitely has in the past, and not just Bowers. Not only for self defense.

For the first time since the night Richie took him, Eddie thinks he might let himself cry.

* * *

It’s funny how the tension of beating off together in the shower is significantly less awkward than wondering if your road trip partner, childhood best friend, and current kidnapper just murdered a guy. They have an uncomfortable lunch made worse when the waitress fucks up Eddie’s order bringing him a salad with cashews, even though he had specifically stated before the meal it could realistically kill him. And with Richie not doing anything to ease the air between them (he at least expected a joke, _Cashews? Is that all I needed to do to kill you? Rub some nuts on you? Because I definitely have a few nuts I could rub on you, Eds.)_ , Eddie feels even more bitter. It’s not he wants him to break the tension, not that he even could, but he was expecting it. It makes for a rough morning.

In the early afternoon, a few times he thinks Richie’s about to try. On the drive back to the hotel there’s an attempt. Small talk. Asking if he’s ever been to Nashville before, if he’d like to see the sights. With monosyllabic replies from Eddie, Richie takes the hint and shuts down. They return to their suite and Eddie walks directly into the bedroom, closing the door tightly behind him. 

Besides the short time in the car, it’s the first time he’s really been alone without being restrained in almost a week. He’s surprised Richie allows it, but he’s grateful all the same.

Taking out Richie’s phone, half listening for him on the other side of the door, in an act of defiance he logs into his Yelp account to bitch about the restaurant. It makes him feel a little better, opposing Richie. Myra never knew about the account so he’s fairly certain it’s safe anyway. 

The ache in his gut makes the whole situation feel like he’s with her again, having done the same thing back then, sulking off to a room to berate someone from the safety of his home as a way to assert control over his own pathetic life. He always knew that’s what it was, but it doesn’t change the fact that the waitress could have killed him today and people should know. When he finishes, he logs out quickly and lies back on the bed. Taking a deep breath, he thinks about how his plan for Nashville has been shot- probably much like the body Richie left at that grey house in the suburb.

He hears a soft knock on the door that opens to Richie sulking through it, climbing on the bed. He lies on his stomach with his head turned, looking at Eddie who only returns a glare and pursed lips. His glasses are on now, hair a mess, and an undoubtedly idiotic graphic tee is covering his chest.

“Eds-” Richie whines.

“Don’t,” he replies tersely. “I don’t want to know.”

“I didn’t do anything. I swear.”

“Sure, Rich. _This_ time you didn’t.”

Richie sighs, covering his face into the comforter. 

He looks as miserable as Eddie feels.

Turning his head back to the side, Richie admits, “I don’t even want to do it anymore. With you here and with the stand-up, I think I’ve been wanting to get out so long but Fuchs and Gray-”

“Why don’t you kill them?” Eddie says with a cool hostility that shocks even himself by how easily it escaped his lips.

“I can’t kill them,” Richie says quickly, then equally surprised asks, “Can I?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie shakes his head, not exactly wanting to be responsible for more death. “I don’t know, Richie. But if you don’t want to do it, all you have to do is stop. Look-” Eddie grabs the phone, pulling up the information for the bar he’d seen earlier. “I found this, open mic night. Less than a mile away, we can get fall down drunk and stumble back together. Come on. What do you say?”

“I don’t know, man. I’m not really in the mood to try to make people laugh. You’re mad as fuck at me for starters. Kind of puts a damper on it.”

“I’m not mad, I’m just-”

“God, do not say _disappointed,_ _Dad,”_ Richie grumbles.

“Never call me that again.”

Through a mischievous smile, Richie lifts an eyebrow, “Prefer ‘Daddy’ do ya?”

“No! No, Richie. Stop it. Are you like this with everyone? How do you ever convince anyone to have sex with you?”

“I weedle them down with my relentless charm, then I think they give in on account of how pitiful I am.”

“Yeah, okay. I can see how that’s probably your only game,” Eddie offers him a smile, accepting the olive branch he sees the joke for. Maybe if he can convince him to do the open mic night it’ll keep his mind off the job. Maybe Eddie’s been looking at this all wrong. He needs to be the brave one, assuring Richie that he can actually make it out there, a life without violence. “Come on, Richie. I want to see you perform.”

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “I don’t have anything prepared.”

“Come on,” Eddie tries again. “It’s only five minutes. You said yourself you have a formula down for that.” Wiggling himself down to be even with Richie, he nuzzles in closer, “You know how hot I think you are when you’re on stage.” 

Hand to god, Richie blushes. It’s endearing as hell and makes Eddie’s heart beat faster all over again. 

Pulling a pillow over his head, Eddie can barely hear the muffled reply, “Fine! Just for you, Spageds.”

Jumping up, Eddie lifts the pillow, “Don’t fuckin’ call me that, dickwad.” Dropping it back down on him, he leaps from the bed. 

They go over his notes on Richie's laptop in the living room, adjusting his usual five minute set to include a local touch. After Richie feels confident enough they still have time to burn. Now that some of his resentment as ebbed away, Eddie actually is curious about a few of the sights, not knowing when he’ll have the time or the chance to be back in Nashville. He’s burning through plenty of time off as it is, if he even has a job when he returns, a thought that should bother him more than it does.

So he playfully punches at Richie until he’s dragging himself off the couch, “Come on, Tozier. Show me the city!” 

“Ugh, fine,” he says it like he’s dying, like it's torture, but Eddie can see the smile smile creeping at the corner of his mouth.

Deciding to avoid the Country Music Hall of Fame, neither one a fan of genre, they do decide on a quick stop by the Grand Ole Opry followed by the Johnny Cash Museum. Both agree it’s only because of the historical significance and they transcend genre. Eddie works hard to keep the mood light, ignoring residual anger from the morning. The overwhelming pressure to save Richie from himself weighs on him all day. It’s not that he thinks he can change Richie’s whole life by knowing him again for five minutes, but he feels a responsibility to that boy Richie had been. Never knowing exactly how much he had suffered at the time, despite the endless signs he’d witnessed, nightmares and hiding behind tasteless jokes.

He’s determined to do what he can for the short time they have left.

Despite lacking real preparation, Richie’s tight-five has the audience cackling. He’s using the voices he practiced with Eddie at the restaurant with surprising accuracy, and Eddie feels a warmth of pride bloom in his chest. The way Richie commands the room, holding the attention of everyone in their seat is effortless. There’s a spotlight on him as he adjusts the mic stand, framing his broad shoulders. Throwing in a bit about the Grand Ole Opry has someone shouting back, not fully heckling which makes Eddie nervous knowing Richie's dread of that, but interacting. He worries needlessly. Richie riffs off the guy easily and the crowd cheers as Richie thanks them, stepping down from the small stage. 

Eddie watches as Richie smiles and gives hellos to people bumping knuckles and high-fiving him as he wanders his way back to the table, a pint waiting for him.

“That was good, Richie,” he can admit the truth.

“Yeah?” He asks, biting his lip shyly. 

“Yeah. I don’t think the bit with the shark works the same here as it might in California, and your New York accent is fucking awful, dude, but the rest was great.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” Richie takes a drink.

“Don’t worry, I will,” Eddie winks. Despite the frustration and fear from earlier, he feels good. He feels brave. He feels like maybe he could live with himself if he ever gathered enough courage to act on his desire, so clearly pulling him to Richie. 

And why shouldn’t he, really? Okay, yeah so his job is… a problem. But they only have two days left together before Eddie will be going back home to deal with reality anyway, why shouldn’t he live a little? Eddie doesn’t believe in fate, but the fact was that had Myra contacted anyone else he’d be dead by now. He’d be dead, and any question of morality would be inconsequential. 

So fuck it all. 

He pulls his chair in closer to Richie who is talking loudly in his ear over the noise of the crowd. People quiet down again as the next person is up for their time in the spotlight. Eddie whispers his commentary in Richie’s ear the entire time, barely paying attention, balancing himself with one hand on Richie’s thigh and the other on the back of his chair while he leans in. They’re both well on their way to thorough intoxication, maybe Eddie’s there already, because he feels good. Warm. Safe next to Richie.

It could be that he’s forgetting another important part of why he curbed his alcohol consumption so early in his life. He may have been known to get a little _friendly._ In the past, he may have let on too easily exactly how much he appreciated the male form. He may have woken up in a panic once or twice, wondering if he had just outed himself to everyone he knew, vowing never to do it again. Because it was all just so much easier to smile openly and feel relaxed around men he found charming and attractive when he was stumbling around drunk. 

“You’re so much better than this shit, Rich,” Eddie’s nose brushes against the stubble on Richie’s cheek. “You should have a manager. Or at least start negotiating actual paid sets. You can do better than open mic nights.”

“Yeah?” Richie seems tense, swallowing nervously. Eddie moves away from him, reluctantly remembering himself, and nods while nursing the bottle in his hand. Richie ordered them some kind of pilsner he wouldn’t have picked but it’s good enough that he’s had a few by now. 

The rest of the performers finish their sets, but by then Richie and Eddie have already wandered themselves closer to the front of the bar. Eddie’s torn between getting the hell back to their room and never leaving the warmth he's found tucked under Richie’s arm. And suddenly he loves the fluttering of his stomach he feels every time Richie crowds in close to talk in his ear. 

He’s sure he’s staring by now, smiling easily, no longer fighting it. His eyes drop to Richie’s lips and maybe he should be more abashed, and later he’ll blame the alcohol, but the normally overwhelming fear for nearly every aspect of his life is gone. Sonia crying out, _Filthy! Dirty! Wrong!_ Myra’s praddling commentary, _Those things are for behind closed doors!_ His own insecurities, _What if he doesn’t want it-_

Doesn’t matter. Eddie kisses him. He thinks. It’s a press of their lips, clumsy from the angle, but it should still count as a kiss, a long time coming. And the best part is that Richie doesn’t run.

“Fuckin’ faggots,” a disembodied voice somewhere to his right calls out. He can hear the laughter. “Cocksuckers.”

Eddie snorts a laugh at that, pulling away from Richie. He knows it’s meant to hurt but it’s so juvenile, and can't help but think that through technicality alone he doesn’t even qualify. You had to have sucked a cock to be one, right? 

“No fags in this bar,” the man's voice is closer now. “Get the hell out of here, cocksuckers!”

“Why are you so interested in who’s suckin’ cock?” Eddie laughs with a relaxed smile and turns to meet his eye. For all his fear, confronting assholes has never been one. He takes a step in the man’s direction. “You linin’ up after this one?” Eddie pats Richie’s chest, biting his lip at the thought of it. Then he lets it all out, “Because I don’t think that little shrimp dick you most certainly are overcompensating for will satisfy shit. Did anyone ever tell you cocks normally make it past the front teeth before they’re all the way in? Every blow job you’ve ever had has probably felt like a deepthroat, you rat dicked motherfucker.”

“Whoa,” Richie holds a hand firmly on Eddie’s shoulder and farther away from the man, “Hold on-”

“What the fuck did you say to me?” The man steps up.

“You heard me, you fuckin’ baby dicked, bitchfuck.” Eddie’s never done it like this before. He’s given a verbal beatdown more times than he can count, but none in response for being gay. No one has ever known because he was absolutely positive that his life would be over if they found out. And in retrospect it may have been a mistake to kiss Richie so openly, but through the haze of his buzz he’d genuinely forgotten. He simply wanted to kiss him, so he did, and that was it. And now this asshole thinks it’s okay to dictate what he can do in public. “Can you even get it inside a woman or do they just humor you and your teensy fuckwand because of that sparkling personality of yours?” Pointing to one of the women with him, Eddie continues, “You probably think it’s a kink that your girl has to masturbate after sex because you never learned where the clit was. Have you _ever_ gotten a woman off or do you just wiggle that little twizzler dick in her direction and make her do all the work?”

“Eds,” Richie warns, grabbing Eddie’s shoulder more firmly, “Lets just-”

“Yeah, I think it’s time to step outside, _Eds,”_ the man mocks, making a fist he steps closer.

“He’s the only one that gets to call me that,” Eddie leans in, looking up to the man who’s much larger than he is, not deterred at all.

“I’m gonna destroy you, you fuckin’ fairy faggot.”

“Nice use of alliteration, asshole,” Eddie jibes back.

Richie tenses, pulling Eddie away and says calmly to the man, “We’re leaving. Okay? We’re leaving.”

But Eddie can’t let it go. He turns to the woman, "Hey, good luck with this little bitch pawing at your clit like it’s a scratch off ticket. I'm gonna go get my back blown out for the third time in two hours by ol’ beer can over here." He gives Richie’s chest another pat.

Apparently that’s the step too far, because the man pulls back his arm and predictably swings hard. Eddie’s waiting for it and quick enough to duck, but Fucko’s friends are joining, rushing against him.  
  
“Oh fuck!” Eddie leans back.

“Jesus Christ, Eddie,” Richie grabs him, forcing him behind his back protectively as they both stumble for the door.

The bartender is yelling and suddenly they and several others are being pushed through the doors into the open cool air. Looking around he realizes he’s been separated from Richie. This time there’s no one to stop Fucko as he reappears, throwing a punch again at Eddie. Knuckles connect right in his mouth. He’s thrown back, falling against the brick of the building. 

Stunned, he licks his lip tasting blood and can hardly believe he’s been hit. His heart is racing and he knows pain will follow soon enough, but the adrenaline pumps too hard through his veins for him to take notice. Blinking, the man is back on him, grabbing at the collar of Eddie’s shirt, pulling his arm back ready to throw another punch, and Eddie does the only thing he knows how. He closes his eyes, flinches away, and braces for impact. 

He definitely considers it a problem that he’s always been good at trash talking but he never did learn how to fight.

The hit doesn’t come. Hands drop from his shirt and without warning Fucko is gone. Opening one eye, Eddie watches Richie holding the man by his shirt, biceps flexed as he pulls him away. The man attempts to throw a right hook but Richie dodges it easily. He punches back, quick jabs, smooth movement, and Eddie is in awe for a second time that night. 

“Come on, man,” Richie sighs to the guy, somehow still calm. “You don’t wanna do this.”

Apparently he does, because the guy shouts and at least three of his buddies are swarming Richie. Eddie, the coward he is, moves back to stand away and gets swallowed in the growing crowd. Ducking around, he tries for a better view, but he’s too short to see through the onlookers waiting for the blood bath. 

“Holy fuck! He’s kicking the shit out of him!” A random voice says, while another cries, “Someone needs to help him!”

Panicking, Eddie pushes the onlookers aside fearing what state Richie will be in, only to find two guys on the ground and Richie with his hands on his hips looking bored despite the trail of blood dripping from his brow. 

Fucko falters back up, bracing himself a moment on his knees before launching himself at Richie, who dodges another punch easily. One of his friends from the ground stands, while Richie’s distracted, a tall, thin man, and he’s able to land a blow across Richie’s chin before Eddie can warn him.

Eddie’s stomach falls and he can’t swallow back the burning in his throat. Time slows as he watches Richie recover from the punch, not looking pained or scared, but enraged. A silent fury accompanied by an intense glare and pursed lips. What follows has Eddie stunned, swift, intentional punches and one well placed kick has all assailants dropping quickly. The one not felled walks backwards with his hands up in surrender. There were only four in total, but it should have been more than enough to take down one person. The only explanation is they had to be more inebriated than he and Richie, because despite his skill, Richie was only a man. 

But he still took on all four and won.

And Eddie’s heart races faster. He takes in the three on the ground. The scrawny ass motherfucker is clutching his stomach, groaning softly. Another much larger man looks entirely knocked out cold. And Fucko, with blood dripping down his face, has the woman from earlier fretting above him.

“Eddie?!” Richie calls out, turning frantically to look in the crowd.

Still frozen, it takes a minute to convince his legs to move but he eventually pushes through until he’s close enough to Richie’s back to place a hand on his shoulder.

Richie whips around, eyes wide, arm pulled back prepared to throw his fist, but he stops himself. “Oh, shit,” Richie sighs, dropping his arm, “I thought maybe you ran. Are you okay?”

“Rich-” Eddie lifts his eyebrows in awe. Hand working on it’s own accord, he touches the blood dripping from Richie’s brow, “Yo-”

“You’ve got red on you,” Richie interrupts first with a smile, pointing. 

Licking his lip, tasting the blood, he vaguely hears something about _Those fags!_ in the crowd behind them. “Let’s go,” grabbing Richie’s hand, he guides him away from the groaning bodies they’ve left littered behind and leads them to the hotel. He realizes they’re lucky that no one else follows.

“Fuck those homophobic fuckfaces. Fucking little dicked, assholes,” Eddie mutters to himself, tugging Richie along. 

“Yeah, I think that’s what got us into this mess in the first place.” Richie smiles weakly, “And you call _me_ Trashmouth. What the fuck, Eddie?”

“I don’t know! I was just pissed as hell.”

“You think?”

Eddie nudges his shoulder playfully, but realizing he’s still holding Richie’s hand, he allows it to fall freely.

They’re quiet the rest of the way back. Juxtaposed scenes from the evening play on a loop in Eddie’s mind; Richie onstage behind a mic stand, Richie’s body twisting to throw a punch, the laughter of the audience at a joke, the groan of the men on the ground. Richie’s smile as he chuckles at his own jokes through his set. 

The blood dripping from his brow.

It was hot.

It was all so fucking hot, Eddie can’t bear it.

He would hate himself a little for it, only he’s still drunk enough not to care.

Then he remembers then that he kissed him. That’s what started it all. An act of courage followed by his foul mouth, and Richie kicked the shit out of four men for it.

With an aching fat lip, Eddie dabs at it absently while Richie swipes the key to unlock their door. Before Richie can slip past, Eddie grabs his wrist and pulls him into the bathroom. Flipping the seat of the toilet down, he makes Richie sit. 

“Stay!”

He walks out as Richie calls after him, “Love it when you boss me around, Eds!”

Opening his bag, he finds the little first aid kit he’d made Richie buy in Baltimore ( _You need one! You never know what can happen on the road, Richie.)_ and returns to the bathroom. 

With a wide grin, Richie teases, “Getting out the alcohol wipes already? _But it’s only our first date, mister!”_  
  
The voice he uses sounds like an old timey film, so Eddie scoffs and ignores him. Taking off his glasses, he sets them gently on the counter next to the sink. First he cleans the dried blood using one of the rough and overly bleached washcloths. Once it’s clean, he returns to the split skin with a disinfectant wipe. Grabbing his chin, he tilts Richie’s head just right. “This looks bad. It might scar,” he’s not sure why his voice sounds like a whisper, so he swallows back the ever persistent lump in his throat.

“Oh, good. It’ll match my emotional wounds,” Richie winces as the alcohol takes effect.

Eddie’s diligent with the way he cleans the cut. The excuse to touch him so delicately is an exhilaration on its own and he knows he’s lingering too long, but Richie doesn’t seem to mind. His eyes are closed and he looks peaceful.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, finally searching for butterfly strips, applying them just to be safe.

“Definitely not the worst I’ve gotten, Doctor K.”

Eddie frowns.

“I remember you doing this for us in Derry. Ben got it pretty bad.”

“Yeah, that was some fucked up shit,” Eddie finds Richie’s glasses, cleaning them absently. “But I guess you’ve seen worse since then.”

“I suppose. It’s different when you’re a kid, though. Like, when you’re a kid you have a cloud of invincibility paired with the overwhelming panic of never knowing what to do. It sticks with you more, I think.”

“You don’t panic anymore?” Eddie asks, offering his glasses.

Richie pushes them over his nose, “Oh, I absolutely panic. Constantly. About everything. But at least I know I’m not invincible."

“Seemed pretty invincible tonight,” Eddie mentions, leaning against the counter. 

Richie studies him with a small smile and Eddie wonders what he’s thinking. Is he thinking about the kiss? Maybe they’ll both never say a word about it again. A fleeting moment ruined by Nashville's finest. With a sigh, Eddie turns and packs the first aid kit and looks himself over in the mirror. His hair is disheveled and his lip is swollen. Seeing his reflection, he’s much more sober than he cares to be, but his eyes drift back to Richie behind him who’s returning the watchful gaze.

Two more days.

He only has two days with Richie.

Eddie’s about to say something, inhaling deeply only to let out a sigh.

“I’m gonna get ready for bed in the other bathroom,” Richie says finally, and Eddie watches as he goes.

Busying himself with brushing his teeth, gingerly around his lip, he washes his face then sighs. Looking himself over one last time in the mirror, he whispers, “Okay. You can do this. It’s now or never, Eds.”

Walking into the bedroom he notices the light in the spare bathroom is on and can hear the water running. Stepping out of his jeans, and pulling off his shirt, he frowns at the stretched out collar before he returns it to his bag. He’d been sleeping in the too large _Frankie Says Relax_ shirt since Richie had given it to him, but as he looks at it now he makes the decision to leave it in his bag.

Flipping off the lights, turning on the TV, Eddie sits on the end of the bed, finally settling on the warm hue of _Rosemary’s Baby_ while wearing nothing but his underwear and a hesitantly optimistic constitution. He waits. The door opens and Eddie’s stomach churns. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the heat between them, the careful way Richie hasn’t spoken of the kiss or the explicit words that tumbled their way out of Eddie’s mouth before the fight. No comments of the obvious implications that he intended everyone to know. _I'm gonna go get my back blown out for the third time in two hours-_

“Come ‘ere,” Eddie says, waving Richie over to stand in front of him.

He witnesses a reluctance in Richie that he hopes can be attributed to nervousness and not repudiation. Richie had so clearly claimed to have wanted him in the previous days, _Whatever you need, wherever you want me, I’m ready. I can be ready._ He was joking, Eddie knows. But he was serious too. A hand on his hip, the breathless way he pleaded for him in the shower-

“Eds-” he says it pained. Like he isn’t in the mood for a joke for the first time in his entire life.

Reaching for his hand, Eddie pulls him closer between his legs, lifting Richie’s dried bloodied knuckles to his lips, he ghosts over them, a tentative brush on raw skin. “This _is_ an invitation, by the way.”

“Yeah?” Richie’s voice is barely above a whisper, but he can’t conceal his astonishment. It makes Eddie’s heart swell.

Saying nothing more, Eddie moves back on the bed and pulls Richie on top of him. This time when they kiss there’s intention. Richie isn’t holding back and no one is watching. He’s falling into him, calloused hands grip at his hips and Eddie feels like he’s on fire. His bruised lip hurts, and he can still taste blood, and he wants so much more. Eddie’s hands find the bottom hem of Richie’s shirt and he’s tugging it up until Richie’s tearing it over his head. 

When his mouth returns to his skin, biting and sucking his way around the column of his neck, Richie uses all his weight to press Eddie into the mattress until it makes him dizzy. Eddie is breathless for him, hard already, rutting against Richie like they’re teenagers fumbling in the dark.

He _feels_ like a teenager. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing but Richie doesn’t seem to mind as he palms over his chest and deft fingers pinch at Eddie’s nipple. He gasps while Richie’s mouth finds the other, sucking hot and wet, all electricity, firing straight to his cock. Twitching from the way Richie’s hands, so fucking huge, run over his skin.

“I’d eat you out, you know that, Eds?” Voice deep and soft all at once.

Eddie moans. That _is_ filthy. _And_ dirty. And maybe the idea of it isn’t so bad. But as Richie is kissing down his stomach with intention, tongue trailing devilishly around his navel, he protests anyway, “No. No, not that, Rich.” Because he can’t- he _can’t-_

“What do you want?” Richie’s looking up at him through crooked glasses and Eddie can feel himself already leaking. 

He doesn’t say anything as he fumbles out of his underwear, abandoning them to the floor. Richie doesn’t seem to mind that he hasn’t answered because he’s staring at Eddie’s cock like it’s something precious. Reverential. And Richie’s awestruck and eager to worship.

A tentative move, he reaches for him, gripping Eddie slowly, massaging from the base. Richie leans in to lick the bead of come from his tip, guiding his cock into his mouth, sucking the top before slowly dragging his tongue over the length of him.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie breathes, in a moment of awe all his own. He’s speechless as Richie’s tongue works over him. As the head of his cock dips in and out between those too pink, kiss-bruised lips. The sight of dried blood on knuckles as his hand wraps around and pulls shouldn’t make him feel so free. He should be wearing a condom, shouldn’t he? He should. But neither one suggested it and now Richie is making a valiant attempt to swallow his cock. Bucking into his mouth, Richie’s hands move to hold down his hips. Pinned, unable to move. Weakly he tries to push up but Richie’s bobbing his head, sucking and turning his hand just right. How often had he fantasized of this moment? “Fuck, Rich. You’re so fuckin’ good.”

Richie hums around him and Eddie has the bad sense of opening his eyes again to watch as his dick goes in and out of his mouth. Gripping senselessly to the sheets, he’s close, he’s too close to coming because they haven’t had enough time in this blissful fantasy come to life. He tries to warn Richie, but any attempt is left with Richie gripping tightly to his hip, keeping him pinned down. And that’s what does it, not being able to move. And the way Richie uses his body, doing with it what he wants, sucking his heart right through his dick, Eddie would laugh if it didn’t feel so true. So he comes instead. Hot strands of himself pumping into Richie’s mouth. He wants to apologize for it but Eddie’s fairly certain he isn’t alive anymore.

Eventually he finds the words to whisper, “Fucking, Christ,” as Richie licks softly around him, like he can’t get enough of him, gentle with his too sensitive cock.

Pulling at Richie’s arms, it’s the first time he sees how hard he is just from Eddie's dick in his mouth. He scrambles up the bed, straddling his legs over Eddie’s thighs. He doesn’t ask, just holds himself up with his left palm near Eddie’s shoulder, and with his right hand strokes with intention.

Eddie’s torn from wanting to catch a glimpse of that beautiful cock dip in and out of Richie’s pumping fist, or watching the heavy lidded way that Richie shines his adoration down on him.

“Come on my chest, Richie,” Eddie demands quietly. 

Then he is. Richie is bending over, grunting with his release, painting Eddie’s chest and stomach in strips of white.

He collapses next to Eddie, breathing so hard, and Eddie can feel the hard pounding of his heart so close to him as he catches his breath. Richie’s holding his eyes closed but Eddie watches, unashamed. Never wanting to forget the way he makes him feel. In a quiet part of his mind a thought escapes, _I loved him once. I think I could again._

And it’s the most dangerous thing he’s experienced yet.

After Richie returns with a wet cloth to clean him off, he takes off his glasses and snuggles against Eddie’s side, wrapping his arm around him, pulling him in tightly against his chest. Breathing together, allowing their hearts to slow, Eddie feels content. One of Richie’s fingers trails absently around his skin.

It’s not that he forgets what’s really happening; it’s that he doesn’t care. Myra, his career, and New York can wait. Here in Nashville he has Richie how he always wanted, perfectly sated and falling asleep in his arms.

“No handcuffs tonight?” Eddie whispers before he can nod off. He means it as a joke but Richie doesn’t laugh.

“You could have left,” Richie replies softly. “Back at the bar.”

Furrowing his brow, Eddie replies, “Yeah? I could have left this morning when you left me in the car. I could have caused a scene in public literally any time this past week until someone called the cops. I could have ditched you while you were on stage. I told you I wasn’t gonna run.”

“Yeah, but tonight was different. You saw me-” Richie's voice is muffled against Eddie’s skin, “You _saw_ me.”

And now that he knows what he means Eddie hates how vulnerable he sounds. Flipping around in his arms, Eddie kisses him, a hard press of their lips, further bruising, he can still taste the iron of his blood. He wants to tell Richie how good he looks when he fights, compliment him on the skill it takes, but Eddie knows it’s the wrong thing to say. 

“I hate that you’ve had to become so good at it,” he finally settles on the truth.

“I know,” Richie sighs. “That’s why I didn’t want you to see.”

“Richie, it doesn’t change who you are. What you do- what you’ve done-” Eddie’s hand finds his face, cupping his jaw gently, Richie opens his eyes. “That’s not who you have to be. You can stop. You can stop any time.”

Closing his eyes, Richie coils in as Eddie rubs his back, comforting him the best he knows how. Richie doesn’t say anything else and soon Eddie feels the slowing of his breath in the even way his chest rises and falls. Once he’s certain Richie is out, he’s able to find the remote, powering the TV off just as Rosemary is drifting off on her own, “ _This is no dream this is really happening!”_

Curling back into Richie, he’s only too happy for his exhaustion to take him.

* * *

A nightmare startles Eddie from his sleep. They happen sometimes, not as bad as Richie’s but he wasn’t entirely unscathed by their childhood. Blinking awake, it takes a moment for him to remember where he is only to realize that Richie is no longer in the bed next to him. 

It’s still dark. He reaches for his phone, which he realizes with frustration that he hasn’t had one for nearly a week. Standing from the bed, he creeps out into the main living room to see the light from the bathroom breaking through the bottom of the door. The clock shows it’s nearly 4:30 AM so he returns to the sink in the spare bathroom to get a drink. He pads barefooted back to the bed.

Eddie isn’t sure if he sleeps while he settles uneasily for what feels like hours before the light grows brighter in the other room, then dim again. The shower starts to run and Eddie wonders if that means Richie’s awake for the day on barely four hours of sleep. Almost like already in a dream, he closes his eyes and starts to drift, but then the bed is dipping and Richie’s returned to him, dripping wet hair on the pillow. 

“Gonna miss you, Eds,” he thinks he hears before he’s falling asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tags, they are a-changin'!
> 
> Next chapter we're going to start getting into some shit (some light shit?), so just keep an eye on the tags. I'll try to update them the best I can. There's definitely some (light?) dubcon and (heavy?) mentionings of violence coming up. I don't know if it's light dubcon or not, to be honest. I am far beyond jaded and can no longer judge these things. This fandom seems to be more cautious about tags than I am. Perhaps it's heavy dubcon. Keep in mind the "Dead Dove; Do Not Eat" tag. 😅
> 
> If you are unfamiliar with that tag, it means this fic "contains elements that may be deemed morally reprehensible without explicitly condemning the sensitive aspects."


	5. Chapter 5

  
  
Eddie wakes before Richie to the sun filtering in from the open door of the bedroom. Biting his lip as he slips out from under the sheet, he toes quietly over to his bag, carrying it into the living room to avoid waking Richie. Placing it onto the table, he digs through to grab his clothes and shaving kit. It doesn’t take him long to shower and change but by the time he’s finished his stomach is rumbling. 

Standing in the doorframe, he watches Richie sleep for a moment, all stretched out with messy hair and the sheets pulled back. He’s half tempted to wake him but decides to leave him alone. Despite all his protestration of the inadequacy of hotel meals, the ache in his stomach is more demanding. Finding a notepad and pen he scribbles a message to Richie, leaving it on his bag on the table, then grabs the spare keycard and finds his way to the main floor. 

It’s early still, barely 8:00 AM and he is desperate for some caffeine. Picking over the best of the fruit, eggs, and toast this place has to offer, he eats quickly then loads up a tray of the garbage Richie likes (donuts and pancakes with extra packets of syrup and butter, even some bacon though he’ll give him shit about it) and retreats back to their room.

Fighting the overwhelming disappointment settling into his chest at the thought, Eddie knows it’s time they turn back for New York. He needs to go home. He needs to figure out a story for his boss for why he went AWOL. Dealing with Myra will be another hell all on its own, but he figures moving out of their shared townhouse is the first step. One he admittedly should have taken the night he handed her the divorce papers, but back then he had been laboring under the delusion that she was a half-way sane person.

Balancing the tray with one hand, Eddie slips the key card out of his pocket but as he holds it up to the slot the door swings open to a frantically disheveled Richie.

“Oh, thank fuck!” He pulls him into the room.

“What? What’s going on?” Eddie panics, wondering if Gray caught up to them. Wondering if Myra found out, immediately feeling guilty and regretting ever leaving that Yelp post. Richie grabs the tray from him, slides it onto the table, then wraps his arms around him tightly. 

“What happened?” Eddie asks again.

“Fuck, I thought you took off. I thought when you realized-”

“I left you a note,” he points to his bag. “I just went to get breakfast. Did something happen?”

In lieu of an answer, Richie’s hand is at the back of his neck pulling Eddie close, kissing his still bruised lip with wild fervor and Eddie can’t deny him. He opens easily, knowing the familiar taste as his tongue pushes equally as urgent into Richie’s mouth. They stumble backwards, a mess of limbs into the bedroom until Richie sits heavily onto the bed and Eddie climbs onto his lap. He squirms on top of him, desperate to feel more with fewer clothing between them. The hard length of Richie underneath his ass, driving him crazy. 

Richie rubs at the front of Eddie’s jeans before saying against his lips, “Fuck this.”

Eddie’s heart falls to his stomach because Richie pulls away. He feels it in his chest and his heart skips a beat, somehow he’s fucked everything up. He doesn’t have time to ask what he did wrong. Richie stands, still holding onto him, lifting him effortlessly, holding onto his thighs.

Eddie’s legs and arms tighten around Richie’s, clinging onto him, he cries, “Jesus, fuck, Richie.”

“I’m getting there,” he replies, turning them around. Then he drops Eddie onto the mattress, a little toss and Eddie tries to hold back the yelp through his lips.

“Fuck,” he drops his head back sighing from the relief that Richie isn’t going to stop. He tries to toe off his shoes and socks while Richie’s hands fumble roughly at his zipper. Just as he’s about to swat him away and do it himself, Richie succeeds, ripping his pants and underwear down in a fluid motion. 

Richie’s hands go straight for his hips, squeezing tightly, then running up and under the fabric of his shirt, bruising along his ribs, pushing the fabric up as he goes. Eddie leans enough to pull it off. And then there he is, on full display. Richie hovering above him, tousled hair and thick framed glasses, gazing at him in devoted adoration. His chest puffs out as he pulls his own shirt off and scrambles out of the rest of his clothes.

It’s different from the shower or the dark of night. Eddie doesn’t know why, but it’s different here, when Richie climbs over him, pressing his entire body firmly against Eddie’s. The silk heat of his skin contrasts beautifully with the rough hair all over his body. Eddie wants his mouth over every inch of him but he doesn’t have the chance to say so. Richie kisses him. What had been so urgent only moments ago slows into a languid exploration, his tongue searching, tasting. Savoring. Eddie’s breathless against his lips, hungry for the burn against his skin caused by Richie’s unshaven jaw. How could he have gone without knowing this wrecking sting for so long?

Eddie’s cock is leaking. He only notices now because of the way Richie ruts against him. Moaning against his lips from the lack of attention below. He wants more. He _needs_ more. 

_Fuck me, Richie. Fuck me. Fuck me._ He wills it, unable to say it outloud. Badly, he wants nothing more than Richie inside him, but he’s scared. He’s always so fucking scared, and beyond exhausted by the fear.

Despite that, he still can’t say it.

Whimpering as Richie’s mouth leaves his own, he moves to Eddie’s neck, kissing and sucking and biting. _Fuck!_ Too hard. It’s too hard and it’s not enough. It’s never going to be enough. He knows it’s never going to be enough.

Eddie’s hands frantically trace over the muscles of Richie’s side, his back, his hips. Grabbing his ass prompts a particularly blissful thrust against his aching cock. He gasps when Richie bites down again, then soothes his tongue over the pang in his neck. 

“Richie. Richie,” he writhes beneath him, unsure of what he’s pleading for. 

Richie pulls his mouth and then his body away, which isn’t what Eddie intended at all. But he shifts, moving his knees a little lower until their cocks are lined up. Richie’s mouth hangs open, a soft gasp escapes as he wraps that large hand of his around them both. Pumping them together. 

Arching his back, Eddie’s eyes fall closed and his breathing is erratic as Richie strokes them together. They’re wet. Richie only stops to move the slick precome down the length of them both. It’s not enough but it’ll do. 

Eddie sighs when he watches Richie lean more properly over them. A slow long strand of spit drops from his mouth, landing between them. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he tries to hold his eyes open but it’s difficult.

Richie strokes with intention. All Eddie can feel is amazement at how they’ve come to be in this place, Richie over him, knowing exactly what to do to make him feel so incredible. He tries to hold on, to revel in that place just before release, but Richie’s whispering his name, moaning praises of his body. It’s all too much. More than he ever could have asked. A wave crashing over and pulling him under all at once, he comes up his own chest while Richie slows to stroke him through.

“Oh, fuck, Eds,” Richie says breathlessly.

 _Eds._ He always was his _Eds._

Richie’s release hits Eddie in the chest, jizz landing as high as his nipple, and Richie collapses to the side of him.

“Fuck,” Eddie sighs, closing his eyes, listening to the huff of a laugh shaking the bed beside him.

“Why’d you have to turn out to be so hot, Eddie? Fuck,” Richie mumbles as his breathing returns to normal. “I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off you.”

“Not exactly complaining about that.”

“Yeah?” He pops his head up, looking at Eddie through a squinted eye. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page.”

Turning his head, Eddie smirks, “Go get something to clean me up.”

Propping his head up, Richie eyes the length of his body with a lecherous grin, “I dunno. Think you look kind of good like this.”

“Richie!”

He leans over Eddie’s chest, devious smirk on his face, “Could clean you off a different way.” His tongue laps over the come on his nipple, biting, teasing him as he licks it clean.

“You’re so gross,” Eddie whispers. “No. Stop. Go get a washcloth.”

Moving closer, Richie asks, “You really think I’m gross?”

Eddie answers with a crushing kiss, pushing his tongue into Richie’s mouth to chase the taste of come over it. “Yes,” he settles on finally. “Go get a washcloth.”

Grumbling, albeit with a smile at the corner of his mouth, Richie stands from the bed and Eddie watches openly as he walks, still nude, into the bathroom. 

His heart is still racing when Richie returns, warm damp cloth in hand. Eddie cleans himself then fishes for his underwear on the floor. Richie pouts at him but does the same with his own. Just as Eddie’s about to stand up, Richie pounces, pinning him to the bed. Clinging to him.

Eddie doesn’t need to move anyway. 

“I talked to Fuchs,” Richie says somberly.

“Yeah? And?” He shifts around as Richie adjusts enough so they’re facing each other on their sides.

Richie sighs, rubbing his eyes under his glasses, “I said he’d still get paid. He could have my cut, which is significantly more than he’s used to.”

“What’s my life worth anyway?” Eddie wonders.

“Obviously you’re priceless, Eddie Bear.”

Eddie flips him off at the childhood name Richie knows his mother used to call him. “What did Myra pay?” He clarifies.

“Thirty thousand.” 

“The _fuck?_ What’s your cut?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Shit,” Eddie rolls to his back and stares at the ceiling. “First off all, I'm outraged that's all my life is worth. But secondly, that better be from her own fucking account. I’m taking it out of our assets in the divorce. Jesus fucking Christ.” Shaking his head, he continues, “Okay, so if he’s keeping your share I can go home now, right?”

“About that-” 

“What?” Eddie leans up, propped up on his elbows, furrowing his brow at Richie.

“He said as a favor to me that he’d brush it under a rug, but he’s scared shitless of Gray and gave no guarantees that he’d be fine letting this slide. He won’t even talk to him about it. Especially because it was supposed to be his territory. Gray doesn’t give a shit about the money. He’ll just be furious enough that he wasn’t given the job.”

“Okay,” Eddie sits up. “Fuck.”

“Look, I don’t know what the hell you want me to do, Eddie. I can’t keep handcuffing you to me at night. What the fuck did you say your job was again? Risk assessor?”

“Risk analyst.”

“Okay. So, analyze the risks here, bud.”

“That’s not really the kind of-”

“Come on,” Richie interrupts, “You get how serious this is, right?”

“I know! I know, okay. I get it. I do.” Rubbing his forehead, he swears again, “Fuck.”

“What do you wanna do? I won’t keep you here if you have a better plan.”

“I don’t know! What are my options? Go home and be looking over my shoulder the rest of my life? Go to the police? Get Myra, Gray, Fuchs, and probably _you_ put away for the rest of your lives?”

“Please don’t do that. It will _not_ end how you think it will.”

“Okay, so, stay on the road with you for the rest of my life, then?” It’s mocking the way he says it, but he has to admit there’s a romanticism to the idea.

“It doesn’t have to be the rest of your life, dude,” Richie says. He waits a moment before adding, “Okay, why don’t you give me a few more days and I’ll see if I can work on getting through to Gray. But even if we get Gray to back off, you need to be thinking about what you’re gonna do about your wife if you don’t want me to, you know, _help you out._ There’s nothing stopping her from hiring someone else or doing it herself. You definitely don’t wanna live with her. And if she knows where you’re working it’s not gonna be that hard for anyone to follow through on finishing the job.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just let me worry about that,” he waves him off. “So what exactly is _your_ plan then? Assuming you have something different than me being your permanent chauffeur.”

“Come with me to California,” Richie offers easily.

Eddie watches his expression soften and senses the loaded implication of the invitation. It makes the corner of his own lip twitch up. Not quite a smile but his heart beats hard at the prospect of more time with Richie. Maybe he should be fighting harder, there should be a way to get back home, hop on a bus, stay at a hotel. He really should go to the police- But that would mean that whatever was happening between he and Richie is over, run out of time, and he’s not quite ready for that either.

Not wanting to appear too eager, he says, “I’ll think about it. Where’s you next stop anyway?”

“Little Rock.” 

“Will you still tell me about Georgie?” Eddie asks quietly.

Turning away, Richie replies, “Yeah, Eds. If you want. Um,” he looks down, “later, though?”

“Okay,” Eddie says. “One more question.”

“Shoot.”

“Hmm. Isn’t that _your_ job?”

Richie laughs unexpectedly at the dumb joke and Eddie’s stomach jumps to see a smile back on his face. “You wanna talk about shooting? Let’s talk about shooting. You. Last night. Shootin’ your load down my throat, Kaspbrak.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie drops on his back, covering his face with his hands. “I’ll go with you on one last condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You gotta get me a fuckin’ phone, man. I’m goin’ crazy without one. I won’t log into shit, okay? I just feel naked without some kind of connection to the outside world.”

Twisting his back to the nightside table, Richie grabs his phone and hands it over. “There. Phone. Better?” 

“Don’t you need this to know who to kill?” Eddie feels brave when he says it, admitting to them both what Richie does, meeting the heat in his eyes, refusing to back down.

“No,” Richie says flatly. “I have, like, three other phones. I was gonna give that to you anyway. I put one of my other numbers in there. Under _Dick McBiggcock.”_

Eddie rolls his eyes but scrolls through to find that he’s right. He quickly edits the name so Richie can see, _Dick Tozier_ . Despite the shitty lighting he holds the phone up to take a picture and saves it as the contact image. “I’m gonna get one of you on stage, next time.”

“So you can jerk off to it?”

“Yeah, probably,” Eddie replies, brazenly. “You doin’ a show in Little Rock?”

“No. Well, not officially. I have a set in Amarillo, though. Twenty minutes.”

“Sexy,” Eddie says sarcastically. Half sarcastically. He made an attempt but by the look Richie’s giving him he doesn’t feel very successful.

Opening his mouth to speak, Richie closes it again, narrowing his eyes with a small smile.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“I don’t know how to flirt with you when you flirt back.”

Laughing heartily, Eddie decides to change the subject, “What’s the rest of your plan to get back to Los Angeles?” 

“No definitive one except the set on Friday and I have to be in Flagstaff by Sunday night. Obviously stopping in Vegas.”

“Another set on a Sunday? Are you _trying_ to make me jizz my pants?”

“You say that like you’re joking but, Eddie baby, I don’t think you are. I think you might actually like me.”

“Like your mouth on my dick, maybe.”

“That’s truly all that I ever wanted,” Richie licks his lip and then drops his smile. “It’s, um, it’s not a set, though. On Sunday.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Eddie throws his arm over his eyes, “I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. Can’t you just _lie_ to me about that?”

“Absolutely. Noted. Lying in the future. Definitely can do.”

Sitting up quickly, Eddie puts his hand on Richie’s arm, “No, don’t lie to me.”

Richie doesn’t meet his eyes. Looking down, he takes a deep breath, “You can’t talk me out of this, Eds. I- I have to do this one. I have to.” 

“You _don’t_ have to, Richie. You don’t have to do a thing. You didn’t do the last one, right? Nothing bad happened.” Eddie waits. “Right?”

“Eds-” his voice is pained. When his eyes finally meet Eddie’s, he looks exhausted.

“You said you didn’t-”

“I didn’t. I mean, I _hadn’t yet._ Not then, anyway.”

“What? When? When did you have time?” Eddie turns to better face him, but he doesn’t need Richie to answer. He remembers waking at 4:30 AM to an empty bed. And now he knows why.

Taking a deep breath, Richie says, “Do you really want to know, Eddie? Because I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything, but only if you want to know.”

With a stern glare, contemplating his options, Eddie finally settles on, “No. Don’t tell me the details. But don’t lie to me either, Rich.”

“Yeah. Okay. I can do that.” 

“What’s so important about the job in Flagstaff, huh?”

“It’s kids, Eddie. He’s hurting kids.”

“Why don’t the police-”

“He was arrested, given community service and a fine. But you should read the transcripts from the trial. It’s bad, Eds. He’ll do it again. He already has. It’s not the first time he was caught and he keeps escalating. Physical violence and rape-” Richie looks down, “The parents of one of the victims hired this time. I’ve been thoroughly vetting, since, you know-” he gestures to Eddie.

Sighing deeply, Eddie decides, “I’ll go with you until Flagstaff.” It’s the only compromise he can think of and even then he’s not sure how much he means it. Richie’s about to protest, Eddie can feel it. So he leans in and kisses him once more. “Flagstaff,” he repeats, this time a whisper. And maybe Richie can feel the lie in it because he doesn’t say a word.

* * *

They drive after that, five hours to Little Rock stopping only for food and gas. Eddie would be naive to say he couldn’t see the change happening between them, especially when Richie presses him against the wall of a gas station bathroom, hands roaming over his chest while he kisses him passionately like he’s making up for lost time. It’s obvious by now that Eddie’s fucking insane, because he lets him. Kissing back just as fervently and snaking his own hand under his shirt to feel the firm muscles beneath it. But before it gets too heavy, they pull apart, breathless and equally as dazed.

Richie teases him with talk of blue balls while they’re in the car. Tries to entice him with talk of roadhead again. Eddie can’t get the image of a tragic blow job accident from his mind, “And I’m not gonna get my dick bitten off by you!” 

“Well, I’m game the other way around if you wanna switch spots,” his smile is lewd. 

Eddie almost wants to try but- “I’ve never done it before.” He feels it’s only fair to admit. It’s better if Richie lowers his expectations now anyway.

“Never given roadhead?”

“Never given head, period.”

Richie’s quiet as Eddie grips the wheel too tightly. Nervous for whatever bullshit is about to come out of his mouth. 

“Huh,” Richie finally settles on.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“I wondered,” he admits. 

Eddie’s trying not to spiral out in a crash of insecurity. He knows he’s inexperienced with men. He doesn’t need Richie rubbing it in. Teasing him for it. All things considered, he’s come a long way, especially recently. He wasn’t prepared to deal with this self-doubt yet. The biggest concern was supposed to be arguing over the cars and antique furniture with Myra. 

“I think it’s kind of hot,” Richie adds.

“Hot?” Eddie scoffs. “How the hell is it hot that I’m gonna give you the worst blow job of your life?”

Richie moans, and out of the corner of his eye Eddie watches him grab the front of his jeans, “You’re gonna blow me? Is _that_ what I heard?”

“Is that _all_ you heard? It’s gonna fuckin’ suck, dude.”

“Then you’re doing it right. Lots of sucking, Eds. Fuck. Eddie Kaspbrak is gonna blow me. _My_ dick is going to be the very first that foulmouth fucker’s lips touch.”

“Yeah, yeah. Make fun of gay virgin Eddie.”

“I’m not teasing you, I promise. I’m still in shock you let me anywhere near your dick. What we’ve already done will give me enough spank bank material for years. A lifetime.”

Eddie gives him a confused glance, not knowing if he trusts his sincerity. 

“Okay, how’s this,” Richie starts, “You’re embarrassed about being a gay virgin. Fine. You want to know something about me that I promise you is a thousand more times more embarrassing? And personal. And I’m already regretting saying anything even now?”

“Well, obviously. I have to know now. Spit it out, Trashmouth.”

“Okay, so this is emotionally embarrassing. I can’t overstate how much this is crushing my soul right now,” Richie stops. 

“Yeah? That good?” Eddie teases. When Richie doesn’t continue, he adds, “And it would be-”

“Shit, okay,” Richie tries again. “I-” he pauses, “Fuck this is harder than I thought.”

“Just say it!”

“I had a crush on you in school,” he rushes. “I mean, I told you about that so that’s not much of a surprise, right?”

“A few days ago you spewed flirtatious shit and then immediately told me it was so you could get into my pants. Is _that_ what you’re talking about?”

“Yeah,” Richie says slowly, “that. But, for real, Eds. You were-” Richie shakes his head with a smile. “You really meant everything to me, okay? I mean that. Stan, Bill, the whole group, I love those guys. Always will. But you, Eddie, it was always different with you. Did you-” He bites his lip, “Did you ever feel like that?”

Eddie isn’t sure how much he wants to reveal. Or why he would. He has a life to return to and emotions have no place in what’s going on between them now, Richie lives in LA and his life is wildly unstable. But maybe, maybe this new life Eddie’s trying to create for himself is one Richie could visit periodically. “I guess I had a crush on you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I um-” Richie looks down to his lap, biting his lip. “I don’t know if you want to know this or if I should even be telling you but, I was actually in love with you back then, Eddie.” He talks quickly, trying to cover it up, “I mean, we were just kids and it was all just puppy love, you know? But it was real to me. I mean, I was really going through a lot of shit, like, a _lot._ And you were always the one who was there for me. Like, there were days where talking to you was the highlight of my week. I would have done anything for you back then. I still might,” he adds softly, with a chuckle. “There was so much I had forgotten but now that you’re here it’s just like all those memories have come flooding back in.”

Eddie’s heart stops. Not sure of what to say, or how to feel. He once thought he had been in love with Richie too, but- “We’re not the same people we were then. _I’m_ not.”

“No, I know. I know how this seems. I’m not-” Richie holds his hands up defensively, “This isn’t supposed to be a big declaration of love, I promise. I just mean, you being a gay virgin, coming to me for help with all that for the first time- it’s kind of a major fantasy fulfilment for me. One I sure as hell never expected to happen, especially after you moved. And I don’t mean I want to pressure you into anything, but I guess I’m just saying I am game for anything you wanna do. Even if it's only holding hands. Sixteen-year-old Richie Tozier is pretty damn happy right now. Almost forty year old Richie is equally as thrilled.”

“It really doesn’t bother you that I’ve never-”

“No. Fuck no.”

“I’m not _actually_ a virgin. I’ve fucked people. Just, only women-”

“I assumed so, what with being married and all. Otherwise we were about to have a real tragedy on our hands.”

A moment passes between them where Eddie tries to gather his thoughts. He realizes now he may never fully understand what Richie went through with Bowers, but he may have shared an equal propensity for hiding how he really felt. A weakness Eddie is still struggling to break away from. “Did you ever feel guilty about-” Eddie doesn’t know how to phrase it, but Richie seems to understand. 

“About being gay? Yes. Constantly. Still do. All the damn time. I’m uh- I’m pretty closeted actually. A few people know. Hookups when I roll through town mostly, very few and far between. Fuchs doesn’t know. Gray doesn’t. Fuck, my parents don’t even know. They’re still wondering when I’m gonna bring a nice girl home.”

Inhaling sharply, Eddie shakes his head, “But you were- you were flirting with me. You came out to me that first night. You said you liked to eat ass.” Eddie blinks, “You said that in public.”  
  
“Eh, I was trying to will it into manifestation. You know? Putting my intentions into the universe. Hoping for a return on some good vibes.”  
  
Passing over the joke, Eddie says, “You seemed so comfortable with it.”

Biting his lip, Richie replies, “It’s always been different with you, Eds. I saw an opportunity. We had a _cleanish_ slate and I took a chance. You asked me directly. What was I going to say? I mean, you knew about my job so it didn’t seem as big of a deal after that. I didn’t think you’d be at _all_ interested, for the record. But I didn’t want to lie to you about it.” Richie rubs his eyes under his glasses, “I feel like I lie to everyone all the time. Like you can’t just come out once and be done. You have to do it over and over again with every person you meet. When you kissed me in the bar I thought I was gonna have a heart attack. It wasn’t my first time with PDA but I wasn’t exactly expecting it from _you."_

“Sorry,” he winces. “I know I shouldn’t have-” he gestures noncommittally.

“Please don’t apologize for kissing me. Best night of my life.” 

He has to fight the smile creeping at the corner of his lip. “So,” Eddie says, gripping the wheel, “Your embarrassing story is that you were in love with me as a kid?”

Richie uses an infomercial voice that rivals Billy Mays, “But wait! There’s more!” Dropping it quickly, he adds, “You remember when you broke your arm? When Bowers chased us through Neibolt?”

“Yeah.”

“Your mom wouldn’t let me see you for weeks. I was devastated, Eddie. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. At one point I almost convinced myself that you realized how much of an asshole I was and you told your mom to keep me away on purpose. My brain was a broken record imagining what it was finally gonna be like seeing you again, if I ever could. I couldn’t keep all that inside. It was just, bursting out of me. And I felt like you were drifting away from me and I couldn’t stop it. I just wanted something permanent. Something that was ours. So, I went down to the Kissing Bridge and I carved our initials into it.” Inhaling deeply, he says, “ _That’s_ my big, gay, embarrassing love story.”

“Wha-” Eddie looks to him and can see Richie is actually blushing. “Shit. You really did that? In _Derry?_ ”

“Yep,” he turns to look out the window. “It’s probably still there.”

“Holy shit, Rich. I had no idea. How old were-” Eddie shakes his head, “I was _thirteen_ when I broke my arm. It’s been there this whole time?”

“Yeah,” Richie sighs.

“And you-” Eddie takes a breath, “You still felt that way until I left?”

“Yeah, Eddie,” he admits softly, “And a long time after.”

“Huh,” Eddie doesn’t stop the small smile that finally breaks through. 

“Was that okay to tell you? Are you creeped out by me?”

“You fucking kill people, dude,” Eddie huffs. “Am I creeped out that you put our initials on the Kissing Bridge when we were thirteen?” Turning his head to Richie, Eddie offers him a smile, “That’s actually pretty fuckin’ cute.” He’s definitely not imagining the blush on Richie’s face. Eddie doesn’t know what to do with all that information, still processing the image of Richie crouched down at the side of the bridge with a knife engraving letters in their name, but he’s glad Richie told him.

The rest of the drive to Little Rock is a blur. There are several times along the drive where Eddie almost finds a place to stop so he can get his hands on Richie. He doesn’t, but it’s on his mind. It’s nearly the only thing on his mind. They finally reach the hotel and with a sly smile, and quick glance, Richie gets a room with a queen bed. This time with the obvious implication of following through with what it means when two grown men book a room with one bed. 

Eddie takes the key and leads them to it without a word, but with a distinct buzzing under his skin. 

Placing his bag on the table, he does a quick investigation of the bed, leaving the comforter pulled down, exposing the sheets in complete disarray. He declares it bug-free, then turns to see Richie smirking at him.

“You done?” Richie asks.

“Yes,” Eddie tenses his jaw.

“Thank fuck.” Richie’s on him before he has a chance to blink. Shoving him to the mattress and climbing on top of him. “Get this off. Get this off,” he grabs at Eddie’s shirt in desperation. Then it’s gone. Eddie slides out of his jeans but leaves his underwear on so he can fumble at Richie’s zipper.

Even though it isn’t new information, he forces himself to make his intentions clear through nerves radiating from him, “I want to blow you.”

Richie freezes. Looking down at him like he didn’t understand a word he said. 

“I want your dick in my mouth,” he clarifies, hoping Richie will move. Hoping he still wants him to.

Richie blinks back, still immobile.

“I want to swallow your cock,” he says slowly, “so take off your fucking clothes so I can get your dick inside me.”

That seems to do it. 

Shaking himself from his stupor, Richie says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He kicks out of his jeans and boxers, and throws his shirt across the room. 

They hurriedly switch positions, Richie lies back on the bed, as far up as he can, and Eddie is on top of him, kissing him in a rush, nipping bites to his neck, down his chest, until he settles in between his legs. He realizes then that he hasn’t even touched him. Richie’s had his hands all over his body, but Eddie has barely even dared to look. 

The beating of his heart thumps faster. He’s never done this before and the reminder of it slams into him, suddenly too painful, and his fear creeps steadily from his chest. “I-” he starts, unsure of where the thought is going.

“You don’t have to,” Richie says quickly, leaning up on his elbows.

“No, that’s not-” Eddie grabs his dick in protest of the kid-gloves treatment Richie is giving him. _Fuck._ His hand is wrapped around Richie. “Just remember to keep your expectations low.”

“Eddie, you’ve already blown past every one of my expectations. Now blow _me.”_

He frowns at the joke but it does put him at ease. Giving him an experimental stroke, Richie’s elbows drop out and he falls back to the bed. Grinning, Eddie looks back. Richie’s cock is warm in his hand, bigger than his own. He kisses lightly to the inside of Richie’s leg, earning a mewling sigh from Richie’s lips. Stroking firmly, he teases the inside of his thigh, licking, sucking, biting, as he works closer to his cock but then skips over it for the other leg.

“You’re an evil man, Eds. The devil,” Richie squirms beneath him. Something he could get used to.

Eddie huffs a laugh, biting sharply at the meat of Richie’s thigh.

“Oh fuck,” Richie’s legs fall open more.

Eddie’s done with teasing them both. Taking a deep breath, his mouth waters at the sight of beaded come at the tip of Richie’s dick. Gently, too carefully, he licks, circling the head. Then he guides him into his mouth. Closing his eyes, he focuses on the weight of Richie’s cock over his tongue. The way he tastes. The keening, panting escaping Richie’s lips. He briefly considers that Richie should be wearing a condom but he silences the voice telling him, _Dirty. Wrong. Disgusting,_ by taking him further into his mouth. As far as he’ll go.

He pulls off before he gags, moving him to lick down the base. The unique scent of Richie is intoxicating. Masculine. Everything he’d been missing for the last twenty-some years of his life. But being there now, in this moment, feels perfect. And he knows there’s no one else he’d rather be doing this, grateful it’s with Richie. Because maybe he had the same fantasies when he was young, and maybe the only regret he has is that he was too afraid to tell him he loved him then too.

Taking him into his mouth once again, he strokes with his hand what won’t fit. Pumping him faster, hoping he’s doing well enough, squirming himself because he’s so fucking hard. All he can think about is how much he wants this cock inside him. How much he wants Richie to bend him over and fuck him.

“Eds,” Richie’s voice pleads as his thighs shift.

“Don’t come yet,” Eddie lifts up suddenly. It’s like scaling a mountain to close the distance between them as he climbs over Richie’s hips and back to his lips. Kissing him deeply, he wonders if Richie can taste any of himself on his tongue. 

Adjusting himself over Richie, Eddie lets his weight press back against his cock. Sitting up more properly despite it taking him away from Richie’s lips, he grinds himself down against him, feeling the hard length teasing his ass. Wishing he had taken off his boxers because even that thin layer of fabric is separating them by too much.

“You’d look so good on the end of my dick,” Richie’s hand reaches out, rubbing against the fabric over Eddie’s cock. Teasing him where he aches so much.

Biting his lip with a knowing smile, Eddie pulls himself out to stroke, “You wanna fuck me, Richie?”

Richie’s hands grasp at his hips, hard enough to bruise, lifting him enough to thrust up against him. “Wanted to fuck you for such a long time.”

“You could if you really wanted. Wouldn’t even matter what I’d have to say about it.”

“That what you want?” Richie leans up, searching for something in his eyes. Eddie doesn’t know if he finds it.

Whatever is burning between them feels all too much like he’s edging closer to a danger he’s spent his whole life trying to avoid. Running straight for it. So unlike himself, not minding in the slightest if he doesn’t make it out alive. 

There’s a fire in Richie’s eyes he’s seen so rarely. The night he’d taken him in New York. The night of the fight. Eddie’s fanning it, he knows. “Do it,” he demands.

Richie flips them effortlessly, without further instruction, obeying the order like the good little soldier he is. 

Eddie is breathless beneath him as Richie’s knees settle on the outside of his hips. His palm runs up his chest, settling in an ominous warning around his throat, squeezing just enough to remind Eddie exactly what Richie is.

 _“This_ what you want?” 

Closing his eyes, he nods. Eddie can’t admit to him how much it’s _exactly_ what he wants.

Leaning in closer, Richie squeezes again as he adjusts his fingers, “I know just how much pressure to put here, Eddie. I know how long to hold before you’d pass out. I could do anything I want with you. I could have you any way I want. Fuck you raw, then take your throat. Come on your face. Dirty you up. What would Mrs. K think of her sweet little Eddie Bear then? Takin' it up the ass from that Tozier boy. She did warn you I was no good, Eds.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, shivering. He’s pretty sure that Richie’s putting on a show, but he can’t be certain. And even if he is, it doesn’t make what he said any less true. Richie could do anything to him and he’d be helpless to stop it.

Finally relenting, Richie sits back, releasing the pressure from his throat. Moving off of him, Eddie waits with wide eyes and doesn’t put up a fight as Richie pulls down his underwear, throwing them carelessly into the pile on the floor. Then his hands are back at Eddie’s hips and he’s flipping him onto his stomach, moving him like he’s nothing. Only a slight weight to be placed where he sees fit.

As Richie lies on top of him, Eddie gasps at his cock against his ass, rutting slowly. Richie leans in and kisses his neck tenderly. Too softly. Like a whisper. “I’m not gonna fuck you, Eds. Not like that.”

“Rich,” he pleads. He wants it. He doesn’t know how to tell him just how desperately he wants him. Dirty and hard and rough. How he wants Richie to take the choice away from him because when he’s given one he’ll run.

Richie pulls back. His hands trace over Eddie’s shoulders, down his arms to his elbow, so softly it almost tickles. Then he’s grasping them, forcing them behind Eddie's back. He holds them there at the wrist, and Eddie’s heart races, unsure of what he intends next.

He can feel Richie moving until he knows he settled low, broad shoulders forcing open his legs as Richie waits at his ass.

“Don’t you dare,” Eddie squirms, knowing his intention immediately. 

Trying to fight against him, he thinks maybe he could break free if he just twisted a little more. If he arched his back just right. He tells himself, despite not fully believing it. Maybe he could. But there’s a part of him that wants to know if Richie will actually do it.

“Eddie,” he can feel Richie’s nose over the cleft of his ass. Teasing. Threatening to dip lower.

“Rich,” unsure if he’s pleading or protesting, he thinks he wants him to stop. 

But Richie’s grip around his wrists tighten, and his other hand runs over his ass, delicately. A sharp contrast from the pain in his arms. More bruises, more dark rings of purple and brown when his had just begun to heal. A finger slides down, tentatively exploring, and Eddie inhales sharply from it. Reminding himself of what he wants, there’s still a lump in his throat and Eddie thinks again, he should tell him to stop. 

Wonders if Richie even would. 

One finger becomes a hand, spreading him open, and Eddie holds his eyes closed so tightly he feels like he’s spinning. 

The mantra of _Do it. Do it. Do it._ cycles recklessly through his deafening thoughts. Heart pounding too hard, he tries to swallow but it doesn’t help ease the panic in his chest. He wonders if he should be embarrassed. He’s blushing and feels overheated, sweating underneath Richie. His aching cock is pinned into the mattress and Richie can see him all.

“Rich,” he thinks he’s protesting this time, because it’s too much. It’s all too much.

But the only reply he receives is a tongue, lavving over him. Slowly. Languidly. And he buries his face into the pillow as he cries out at how good it feels, ashamed for it, as he trembles against Richie’s tongue. All his muscles tense as that tongue presses against his hole, and he cries again into the downy pillow.  
  
He should be fighting back. He didn’t want this. The way it makes his neck burn and the sweat build on his brow, he’s ashamed. _Did_ he want this?

He wanted this.

He wanted it so badly.

Richie only moves away long enough to press a finger in and Eddie can feel the way he crooks it just right.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie cries, turning from the pillow for fresh air. He’s done this to himself plenty of times, but no one else has ever- and now Richie’s tongue is back, kissing around the sensitive rim until his finger finds its way back in. Alternating between finger and tongue. Teasing him just enough so he can’t get off. Edging him closer.

Rocking against the mattress, he didn’t even notice when Richie removed his other hand, no longer binding his arms behind his back. So he moves them to clutch at the sheets. There are two fingers now, pressing inside him, burning as they open him up. Rubbing, too overwhelming, and all he can do is fuck into the mattress and rock back onto those fingers.

Richie takes them away, but pulls Eddie up to his knees before he has a chance to whimper from the loss. Wrapping his hand around, he strokes Eddie’s neglected cock, throbbing and leaking, then licks again at his wet, raw hole.

“Oh shit.” Eddie spills over Richie’s hand, stroking him through it slowly, until he collapses onto the wet mess of the bed, not even minding.

“So fuckin’ hot, Eds,” he hears Richie say somewhere behind him. 

Turning his head just enough, he lifts his eyebrow and watches as Richie strokes, then stops to lean lower. He thrusts against the cleft of his ass, teasing his hole but never breaching, until Richie’s coming, hot spurts hitting his back. 

Closing his eyes, Eddie tries to focus on his slowing heart as Richie lowers himself next to him. Eddie listens to his rapid breathing and feels fully content.

Only he would rather be kissing Richie.

He waits a few more minutes until he thinks Richie’s able to function again before he says, “Go brush your teeth. That was disgusting.”

“Did you hate it?” Richie asks, but doesn’t appear to give a shit how Eddie will answer.

So he doesn’t answer, not right away. He waits until Richie’s lifting an inquisitive eyebrow at him behind crooked glasses. Instead of praising him, while wondering how he can get him to do it again, he settles on what Richie told him the day at the vegan restaurant in Baltimore. 

“Not so bad.”

Richie chuckles a breathless laugh. 

“Still gross. Go brush your fuckin’ teeth, Richard.” The bed jostles as he gets up and Eddie calls out, “And clean off my ass!”

He does. 

He returns with minty fresh breath, a wet cloth, cleaning Eddie fastidiously, giving his left ass cheek a chaste kiss, then Eddie rolls onto his back and pulls Richie in to kiss him. Vaguely, he figures that they should do something that doesn’t involve lying in bed all day, but Eddie can’t quite get himself to care enough to leave.

“Can we go to Oklahoma City?” Eddie asks.

“Sure,” Richie smiles back at him. It’s shy for someone who had no qualms about sticking his tongue in Eddie’s ass. 

He fights back a blush at the thought. “You wanna do a set there? I was looking at a few bars and I think I could harass them into adding you.”

“Sure,” Richie repeats, dopey smile not budging.

“You just gonna agree to anything I say now?”

Grinning widely, he says, “Sure.”

He knows he’s going to ruin the mood but it’s been a week, and a lifetime, and he needs to know. Dropping his smile, Eddie asks softly, “Will you tell me what happened with Georgie?”

Richie’s smile falls immediately and Eddie almost regrets asking. Almost. 

“Can I have clothes on for this conversation? My dick’s flappin’ in the breeze.”

“Yeah, but it’s a nice dick, though.”

Richie doesn’t smile as he searches through his clothes which he finds quickly, pulling on his shirt and boxers then throwing Eddie his. Richie returns to the bed as Eddie steps into his underwear and pulls off the soiled top sheet.

“What do you remember?” Richie asks.

“Not much,” Eddie admits, settling back in against him. He lifts Richie’s hand and traces the faint scar that mirrors his own. “Um, well, shit really hit the fan after Georgie had been missing for a few days when Bill was convinced he was in the sewers. So, we searched the Barrens. Found an outlet big enough to fit in. We found those other missing kid’s clothes, so we knew we were close. Toys and shoes and shit. But didn’t see any sign of Georgie. Bill didn’t figure out that the house on Neibolt connected to the sewers until after the oath.” Eddie squeezes Richie’s palm. “He was convinced that it was Bower’s headquarters and we must have missed it the other times we were there. So he wanted to check again but-” Eddie furrows his brow, trying to remember. “Wait, why weren’t you with us? I thought the plan was to meet up at Bill's. We all went to the house together except you were already there.” 

Richie sighs, “Bill and I got into that fight, remember? I was a dick about Georgie-”

“Oh, that’s right. He punched you,” Eddie pulls his hand away to rub his face, trying to remember the timeline. “We took the oath after Mike almost died. After I broke my arm. But then you guys got into a fight. You said protecting each other was one thing but looking for trouble-”

“I said, _‘Searching for dead kids is only gonna get us killed.’_ It had only been, what? Five days? A week tops, and I tried to convince him Georgie was dead. I was an ass. I probably said he needed to accept it. So he hit me. I deserved it.”

The memory is vivid now. It’s not like Eddie wants to remember this shit either, but he needs to know, so he continues, “Yeah, that’s right. So, we still had that plan to explore Neibolt but you said you weren’t going. Only, when we show up you’re already there. Your bike was outside and when we went in you were soaked in blood.” Taking a deep breath, he adds, “I remember Bill crying. Seeing him over Georgie. Bowers was covered in blood. Or-” Eddie closes his eyes at the memory, “A _pile_ of blood. I think I pulled you out of the house. You were-” Eddie remembers now, how lifeless Richie had been, standing over both bodies in shock, “You needed to get out of there.”

“Yeah,” Richie says quietly. “Yeah, I never wanted to go in there in the first place. I felt bad about what I said to Bill. I still had that, you know, that sense of devotion to him. It was dumb as fuck but that oath meant something to me, man. I remember how seriously I took it. It felt like we really were binding ourselves to each other. And I felt bad about being an asshole, so I decided to show up. But when I got there I heard Bowers talking. Laughing.” 

“I can’t believe you went in alone.”

“I-” Richie shrugs, “Yeah, it was fucking stupid. But I kept thinking what if you guys were already in there already? What if _you-”_ Richie clears his throat, “Anway, I didn’t go in guns-a-blazin’. I was quiet. I snuck in. I think I heard crying. I think-” he shakes his head. “Bowers was talking, telling what he did earlier that day. I could hear him through the whole house. He talked about stabbing his dad in the throat and how he loaded his car up with his friends and did the same to them. And how he couldn’t get enough of it but he fucked up with them because he did it too quickly. He said he needed to-” Richie scratches his head, “I can’t remember. Something about how he didn’t enjoy it enough and that was the only thing he regretted. And he wished he would have brought them to Neibolt so he could have had more time.” 

“I can’t believe no one would listen to us. We were just kids and even _we_ knew it was him,” Eddie says. 

“Yeah, but his dad shut that shit down fast. He didn’t want anyone looking into it.”

“Yeah, I guess. Look how that turned out for him, though,” Eddie shifts in closer. “What happened after you went in?”

“I found the room they were in. He didn’t hear the floorboards creak because he was pacing and ranting so loud. The door was gone and I didn’t want him to see me so I kind of hid around the wall of the door frame. I was practically on the ground, trying to be as small as possible. When he was going back and forth, I saw the knife in his hand. He was,” Richie nods, “he was already covered in blood. I think it was the one he used on his dad and his friends.” Sighing, Richie pauses before continuing, “Georgie was in a chair, facing away from me. His raincoat was on the floor. I knew it was him. I knew it. He was tied up-” 

Eddie reaches out for Richie’s hand again, threading their fingers together. Richie doesn’t meet his eyes, talking instead to the ceiling. 

“God, I haven’t thought about this in years,” he laughs morosely. “Um, yeah, anyway. Bowers was talking about how it was gonna be better this time because he had time to _play._ He got his knife out and stood in front of Georgie. That’s when he-” with his free hand, Richie rubs his eyes behind his glasses. He takes a deep breath, “He _tried_ to cut off his arm. It didn’t- you know, it was just a little pocket knife, so it didn’t- uh, he had to keep grinding at it. Laughing the whole time. He just had this maniacal laughter. I can never forget that fucking laugh. He just kept sawing at it, it felt like forever and I was just fuckin’ frozen. I should have jumped up. I should have stopped him then. Eventually he got tired of the knife so he picked up the axe on the floor. That’s what kind of snapped me out of it. I _knew_ I should have gone in before, but as soon as he picked up the axe I knew it was too late.” Richie’s jaw tenses as he swallows, his throat bobbing, “I, uh, I never told anyone, but I could have saved him. Georgie. I’m pretty sure. That’s why I don’t-

“Rich,” Eddie’s stomach sinks and his heart aches. Richie was only a kid. He never should have witnessed anything, let alone carrying the guilt of trying to stop it.

“So, he picked up the axe,” he pushes on quickly, “And he didn’t just, you know, swing it down at him. He had to fucking- he took a few practice swings around the place. Into the walls. The floor. Trying to psych him out or something. It was sharp. It cut through everything. Right when he swung it at Georgie, I jumped up. I didn’t mean to, but he swung it down, cut Georgie’s arm clean off. And I just ran at him. I didn’t even think. I don’t know why I froze before when I could have helped him. I couldn’t move until after it was too late. And maybe it wasn’t even too late then, but I still fucked up. It was just his arm. Maybe if we- after everything when you guys got there, maybe he still could have lived if we would have gotten him out sooner? Or if I would have gone outside and yelled for help instead of-” Richie lets the sentence hang in the air.

Between them Eddie tries to will the love in his heart he has for this man and the boy he was. He knows he’ll always love the Losers and the shared trauma they’d endured, but Richie deserves his love the most and he hopes he can feel it. He hopes he knows.

“But um, I didn’t do that,” he continues, “I ran at Bowers and I think the surprise of it all just got him. He didn’t even have time to lift the axe. I punched his throat and he dropped it. Then I picked it up and I just started swinging at him. It didn’t stop him at first. I think nicked his arm, and he just- he just kept coming at me. I just kept swinging at him, over and over, I kept going and going. Arm. Side. Leg. Chest. Wherever I could get it to land. It was heavy. I remember my arms started to ache. It was so fucking heavy, it hurt so fucking much, but I kept going. Even when he finally fell, I just kept swinging. It was just- everything he said before about his dad and his gang, I could _hear_ it. And the noises they made. He said there was a whistling when their throats were slit. He’s right about that, by the way,” Richie half laughs.

Eddie crowds closer to him, wrapping his arm around him, holding him tightly. 

“I don’t know how long I was-” he shakes his head, “I know later the police said it was hard to identify him. But the next thing I really remember was hearing your voice and I just kind of dropped the axe. I just wanted to see you. I kept thinking that if Bowers had been on a murder spree, maybe he could have gotten to you too. He almost got Mike and Ben. It could have been you.” He takes a deep breath and adds, “I never wanted to tell anyone because I thought I could have saved him, you know? If I would have acted faster, maybe he wouldn’t have died? Or even after it happened, if I had just hit Bowers and gotten Georgie out, maybe he would have been okay? You can live without a limb. But I never even checked on him. I just kept swinging.”

“Richie,” Eddie squeezes him, “You know they said-”

“Yeah,” Richie closes his eyes. “I know the cops told Bill and his parents he had been dead a few days. But I think- I mean, I _know_ I heard him with Bowers. It wasn’t just Bowers talking shit. It sounded like crying or, I don’t know. I know it was Georgie. Why else was he tied to the chair? The cops only said that shit so I wouldn’t end up with a fuckin’ complex or some shit. They do that, you know? My uncle was a firefighter and always told us that. A guy lets his cigarette burn down his house, killing his family, they tell him it was faulty wiring so he doesn’t feel guilty. So don’t-” Richie shakes his head, “I know what I heard in that house. I’ve never told Bill. I told the cops but I never told anyone else. I could have saved him. I could have and I didn’t. I froze.” Richie takes a deep breath and rubs both of his hands over his face.

Eddie holds onto him tighter, “Maybe you could have, but maybe not. Georgie had been missing for days. Even if he was still alive then, who knows how weak he was at that point? Who knows what else they did to him? He wasn’t in good shape, Rich, and you were only a kid. Bowers murdered his dad _and_ all his friends before even getting to Neibolt just that day. None of _them_ could stop him. Maybe if you would have tried to save Georgie you both would have wound up dead. But _you_ caught him off guard and stopped him all by yourself. He can’t hurt anyone ever again because of you.”

Richie adjusts himself lower in the bed, turning on his side to nuzzle against Eddie’s chest, he mumbles, “Do you understand why I can’t just quit, now? Do you get it?”

Eddie realizes he’s talking about his job. Moving himself around, he lifts Richie’s chin enough to look him in the eyes, “I understand why you feel that way but if you want to quit, you can quit. You’ve done enough, Rich. It’s not your responsibility to save everyone. You _can’t_ save everyone.” Eddie runs his hand over Richie’s hair, then presses their lips firmly together. “Are you okay?”

Scoffing a laugh, Richie says, “Well, no. Where have you been?” 

Eddie cracks a smile.

“I’m okay, Spageds,” Richie amends. Eddie lets the name slide, just this once. “I know that was heavy shit but I’ve been living with it for a while. I’m okay. Obviously I could benefit from a lifetime of therapy, but I think that boat has sailed. And, uh,” Richie pauses, “I know you’re not besties with him, but can you not tell anyone, specifically Bill, about all that?” 

“I won’t tell anyone, Richie. I promise.” 

“Thanks. One more question,” Richie gives him a crooked smile, “Can I tongue fuck you again some time?”

“Oh my god,” Eddie blushes instantly, quickly hiding his face against Richie’s neck and the pillow. 

“The way you squirmed against my face, god, I’ve never splooged so hard in my life.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

“I saw stars, Eddie.” 

“Shut up!” He repeats more emphatically.

“Can’t help but notice that isn’t a ‘no.’”

Eddie takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Richie, feeling his heartbeat. “It isn’t a ‘no,’” he confirms, reluctantly. Richie’s grip tightens around him as he laughs. Eddie has never felt so close to anyone before. Not since they were kids. And he never wants Richie to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am eternally grateful for all the beautifully kind and supportive comments. 💗 You don't even know!
> 
> I am unsure of how the pacing of things may go in future chapters but I'm estimating that this is about the halfway point.


	6. Chapter 6

Reluctant though they are, eventually they do get out of bed. Quizzing Richie on all of his plans for the upcoming days, Eddie creates a calendar of their stops then begins researching bars, comedy clubs, and coffee shops, looking at all angles for the best joints to showcase Richie’s talent. 

There is brief discussion of finding a stage for that evening but when Eddie spots the size of the hickey Richie left on his neck, one that can’t be hidden even with a popped collar, they both decide that staying in for one night is okay too. 

They replace the sheets on the bed. They kiss until their lips are bruised. They order pizza and find an _Evil Dead_ marathon. 

In between all of it, Eddie paces the room calling into towns on the list, promoting Richie with enthusiasm and an air of authority he's grown into over the years. He isn’t very successful with such short notice and without Richie having an established name (or any significant social media presence), however, he does receive a favorable response from a club in Oklahoma City due to a last minute cancellation.

Hanging up the phone, he turns to Richie, “They’ll pay you $50 for twenty minutes if they see some of your material and think you’re good enough. Which you will be.”

“Like, they want me to audition when we get there?”

Furrowing his brow, Eddie says, “No, I just have to send them a video of your five. Come on, dude. Open bar, too. Huh?” He smiles, feeling wildly successful and a rush of adrenaline from the prospect of having booked him a gig. 

“Yeah, alright,” Richie agrees, jumping up from the bed.

Going through his notes on the laptop, Eddie helps him narrow down which jokes to tell. He picks out some of his least offending clothes, which is a challenge, then they record two perfect sets. Eddie decides the first one has the best energy, which Richie shrugs in agreement, so he sends it off. 

An hour later Eddie receives a text back saying Richie can have the slot.

They celebrate by wandering on foot to the nearest Walgreens where neither one says a word when Eddie points with intention to the box of condoms and lube on the shelf. Richie grabs them as inconspicuously as he can manage, as well as a pack of Oreos. Giving him warning with a nod of his head, Eddie walks straight out the door and waits for Richie to pay while fighting his embarrassment against the brick wall. The walk back to the motel has them brushing their hands together, both pretending it’s on accident.

“Do you have any social media strictly for your comedy?” Eddie asks, finally relaxing against the headboard forty minutes into _Army of Darkness._

“For stand-up? No. I told you, the most I usually do is just a random night here or there. I’ve never actually seriously considered pursuing it. Fantasized about it, sure.”

Pursing his lips in concentration, Eddie asks, “How much money do you have?”

“Like in my pocket?”

“Like set aside. Savings. Investments.”

“What’s a high enough amount to convince you to be my sugar baby?” Richie waggles his eyebrows. “Because... that.”

“I’m serious, Richie.”

“I don’t know. Why are you asking me all this?”

“Look, I’ve been running it through my head all day. You’re good, Rich. You’re fucking amazing, frankly. I’m actually a little mad about it because you’re a shithead.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“No, but I seriously think you have a shot at making a career out of this.”

“Really?” The wry smile Richie gives him makes Eddie grin as well.

“Yeah. But you’re gonna have to put a lot into it. I’ve been researching and you need to have a social media presence for sure. Definitely Twitter. Probably Instagram. Wouldn’t hurt to start putting some clips on Youtube. The guy at the club wanted links. You don’t have shit.”

“What does that have to do with how much money I have?”

“If you want to make it, it would help if you have disposable income to, you know, keep doing this shit. Only book paid sets. Travel the region. We’re probably gonna spend more on gas just getting to Oklahoma City than you’re gonna get paid. But you _can_ get paid. And you should. It’s not gonna be enough to support you, at least starting out. It’s about building up a name for yourself so you can get an agent to start booking-”

“Holy shit,” Richie blinks, interrupting him. 

“Too much?” Eddie tenses, “That was too much wasn’t it? Fuck. Sorry.”

“No, it’s just, you’ve really been thinking about all this?”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugs.

“You really want me to do this?”

“No, no. Dude. It doesn’t matter what _I_ want. Sorry, I’m like trying to push this shit at you. I just thought, you know, you’re good. You’re really good.”

Tilting his head, Richie considers him a moment before saying, “Yeah, okay. Sign me up, Spagheds.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ call me that or I’ll-” Eddie pauses, “Wait. That’s a good idea. I’m doing it anyway.”

“Doing what?” Richie asks cautiously.

“Creating your _brand,”_ Eddie replies sarcastically, then promptly creates social media and emails accounts under the name _Trashmouth Tozier._ “The alliteration works, jackass,” Eddis says, when Richie complains. “If you don’t like it you can come up with your own.”

Richie doesn’t change it. 

They spend the rest of the night cozied together on the bed, with Eddie taking a few pictures of Richie to add his new accounts. Switching to Richie’s laptop, he bookmarks and organizes everything, including a new email address, and starts looking up options for building a website and buying an official domain name. Most of it is frivolous bullshit, Eddie knows, but he works at it methodically because he genuinely believes he can do it. Richie just needs some encouragement and jumpstart on a digital presence.

A wandering finger traces its way along the outside of Eddie’s thigh and he pretends not to notice while continuing to spew out some kind of professional sounding bullshit of a biography that he can copy around Richie's accounts. The twitch at the corner of Eddie’s lip, turning up into a smile, gives away his ignorance. Richie’s finger slips to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh and Eddie finally has to speak, “My dick is gonna fall off if we keep this up.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Richie says faux innocently, a finger swirling lightly, creeping further up Eddie’s leg.

Rolling his eyes, Eddie says, “I haven’t gotten laid this much since- ever. I have _never_ fucked this much in my life. I don’t think I can even get it up again. You broke my dick, dude.”

Chuckling quietly, Richie says with a smug confidence, “Oh, I know how to get you hard again.” 

“Oh, really?” He lifts his eyebrow but doesn't tear his gaze away from the screen as he continues to type. 

“Uh-huh. You’re easy, Eds.”

“Easy? You calling me a slut?” He shakes his head, “Fuck. You really have no idea how opposite of that I am.”

“No,” Richie laughs. “I mean, you’re transparent. I know what you want.” When he waggles his eyebrows suggestively Eddie wants to hit him.

“Fuck you, dude. You don’t know what I want,” Eddie panics that maybe he does. He _probably_ does. There’s a very realistic chance that Richie knows exactly what he wants because so far Eddie’s nearly blacked out from how hard Richie’s made him come. It’s pretty obvious that he knows how to get him there. But even if he does, Eddie isn’t willing to give into him so easily. And that’s really the problem, isn’t it? Not wanting to give into him, but wanting him all the same anyway. Richie smiles at him, grinning like a fucking maniac, and Eddie is seconds away from slapping it off his face. 

Eddie barks, “What’s that? That stupid look. Stop it.”

Shrugging, Richie says again, “You’re so easy, Eds.”

“Fuck you!”

“Mmm,” Richie agrees through his grin, “Yeah, that’s definitely on your list.”

“Shut up.”

“Fine,” he throws his hands up to surrender, “Fine. I’ll leave you all alone.”

A tense moment passes between them in which Eddie is now desperately missing the way his finger trailed with intention over his body. Richie’s too rigid to be paying attention to the TV, Eddie knows he’s waiting for him to ask. And he’s not going to do it. He’s not. There’s no fuckin’ way in-

“Just because your tongue was in my ass does not mean you know everything about me,” Eddie scowls.

“Uh, huh.” Richie still has that fucking smirk.

Eddie slams the laptop shut, promptly setting it on the side table. “You don’t, Richie.”

“You’re right,” his smile breaks wider but he continues to look at the TV.

“Ugh, fine,” Eddie huffs, giving in. “What? What is it? What is it you think I want with your magic fuckin’ dick?”

He’s rewarded with Richie’s finger teasing along his leg again. “It’s not my dick,” he supplies confidently. 

Squinting at him, confused, Eddie replies, “No, I’m pretty sure your dick is the only thing I-” Eddie’s legs are pulled out from beneath him and Richie’s on top of him before he understands what happened. Back fully against the mattress, looking up with eyes wide in surprise, Eddie blinks at him as Richie hovers above, then grabs his arms, forcing them over his head. 

“What the _fuck,_ Richie!” He breathes heavily, chest puffing out nearly in a panic.

“You up for this?” Leaning over him, Richie leans close enough to touch their noses.

“No,” he replies simply. 

“Well, not yet. I’ll get you up,” he winks.

“No. Get off me. I told you, my dick is dead, dude. You’re not gonna-” he feels cold metal wrap around his wrists and he knows immediately that Richie’s handcuffed him to the bed. “What the fuck did you just do?” Pulling wildly, the bed shakes but however Richie’s rigged it, he’s not getting free.

“You told me a few days ago you wanted me to fuck you in ‘em,” Richie laughs, “How about this, if I can get your dick up again, you have to come with me to Flagstaff. Stay with me one more day.”

Groaning, Eddie closes his eyes. “Yeah, fine. Whatever. _One_ more day then I’m gonna get a bus ticket and fuck off. _If_ you can get me off. But you’re not gonna do it. I’m tapped out, I’m telling you.”

Leaning back, Richie narrows his eyes, looking like he’s trying to calculate his next step.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, arms straining above him.

“Figuring out how kinky to go with you.”

“No kinky. Zero kinky.”

“Aww, but that’s what gets you off, Eddie baby. If I don’t go through with it, I won’t be able to get you to jizz all over yourself. And you look so pretty covered in come.”

“No.”

“Give me a chance and if I can do it I’ll show you how to break out of handcuffs later. You’ll never be detained against your will ever again.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Eddie relents, “Fine.”

With two fingers in his ass and Richie’s lips wrapped tightly around his cock, Eddie comes for a third time that day.

* * *

Later that night, Richie shows him how to break out of the handcuffs. 

“It’s not like the movies. You can’t just, like, slip out of them.” He points to the hole where the key goes, “Unless you’re really committed to shattering the bones in your hand, you’re gonna need something on you. Paperclips are the easiest. A bobby pin will work. It’s a little trickier if they’re a double lock. I don’t carry those on me because usually I’m trying to restrain someone for a second, right? If someone is gonna fight back, I just need the assurance that they’re going to be held in place until I can-” he clears his throat, “you know.”

“You actually use these on people?”

“Not these specifically, no. I’m paranoid as hell and fuckin’ trash everything right after. Here,” Richie holds his own wrists out in front of him, locking them on himself. Giving a few experimental tugs to demonstrate he can’t break free, he asks, “See that?” Pointing to where the key should go, he continues, “Just how like I like my men, easier to do because I can see the hole.”

“Goddamn it, Rich-”

“Put the paper clip in. Turn. Bam! We’re free,” Richie talks over him. 

“Wait. Do that again.”

“Also something I like to hear from my men,” he smiles, then quickly shows Eddie once more how to slide the paperclip in, bend and turn.

They spend the rest of the night practicing. Richie shows him the tricks he knows and Eddie attempts escaping from different positions, starting slowly with his hands in front, moving to hands behind his back, cuffed to a chair, cuffed to the bed. Eddie only has to yell at Richie once for trying to distract him as he kisses along his shoulder and up his neck.

“If you’re ever in a situation where you need to do this, knowing how to pick it while distracted will be beneficial. Consider this part of your training.” 

“You’re training me? Is that what this is?”

Shrugging, Richie says, “Wouldn’t hurt. We should do the rope too.”

“Later,” Eddie agrees. 

That night Richie curls his big arms around Eddie, pressing his chest tightly against his back. Kissing his neck as he whispers goodnight, Eddie holds onto his arms and remembers his childhood. Richie had always been the best part of Derry. There’s a hope Eddie clings to that after everything is over, after Gray gets called off and he's properly divorced, maybe Richie will still want to be in his life. 

* * *

Another long day in the car hurling himself further from home should set Eddie ill at ease, but it doesn’t. Richie drives belting offkey songs from their youth while Eddie rolls the window down just to feel the wind against his skin. Sunglasses Richie insisted upon buying cover half of Eddie's face and their fingers tangle occasionally between them, just when he feels like it. He’s never had anything like this in his life, this easy going affection so open between them, and Eddie’s trying to savor every moment they have together knowing it’ll all be over too soon.

They check into the next hotel in Oklahoma City. They kiss until they can’t breathe but then Eddie is pushing Richie off of him, ordering him to get ready for his set. “We’re not going to be late to the first gig I book for you.”

Richie presses a chaste kiss against his lips, “‘First’ implies there might be a second.”

“I’m working on it,” Eddie smiles, “Now get the fuck up.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Kaspbrak, sir!” Richie salutes as he changes into the clothes Eddie picked for him.

Watching from the bed with a grin, Eddie shakes his head fondly, “You’re such a dumbass.”

Richie moons him, a quick flash of his ass before he pulls up his jeans. Eddie replies by throwing a pillow.

When they arrive at the comedy club, Richie starts pacing nervously from the small back room they’ve been led to. 

“This place is fuckin’ legit, Eddie. What the fuck?” 

“Calm down, dude. It’s a step up from a coffee shop is all. It’s basically a themed bar.”

Richie stops abruptly. “Fuck.”

“You gonna throw up? Tell me you’re not gonna puke.”

“I’m not gonna puke!” Richie shakes his hands. “I’ll save that act for the stage.”

“You better not. You should start building relationships with venues. Have you ever networked a day in your life?”

Richie furrows his brow looking thoroughly like someone about to vomit.

“Nevermind,” Eddie puts his hand on his hips. Taking a deep breath, he says, “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“No, no,” Richie rubs his face. “I want to. I’m fine. Do you have, like, four shots on you by any chance?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but leaves the room to take advantage of Richie’s open bar ticket. When he returns they take turns throwing back drinks. Richie shakes out his hands and begins pacing again.

“You okay?” Eddie eyes him skeptically. “Say the word and we can just go back to the hotel and fuck all night.”

Stopping immediately, Richie turns toward Eddie and cups his face in his hands, “God, I love you so much.” Richie kisses him deeply but Eddie freezes at the words. When Richie pulls away, stilted and stiff, realizing what he let slip, Eddie knows his eyes are wide because Richie is giving him a tense look. “I didn’t mean that like-”

“No, yeah,” Eddie nearly squeaks. 

“I just meant, thanks for all the drinks,” Richie clarifies. “And the dick.” 

“Sure,” he laughs awkwardly. “Yeah. Obviously. Um, I’m gonna head out there. You’re on soon and I want to have a good seat to take some pictures for your social media. Okay? Okay.”

Eddie flees, not ready to process whatever the hell that was. Richie obviously didn’t mean it, not how it sounded. No. Because that would be fucking insane. They’ve known each other again for like a week. Instead he finds a seat to the side, one that provides a perfect window to the stage, mic in front of a classic brick wall. And now his own heart is hammering with nerves. Biting at his lip, he doesn’t allow his mind to wander to what just happened in the backroom. Instead he makes sure the settings on his phone are set correctly and he patiently waits for Richie to walk on stage.

When he does, Eddie’s still on edge. The most nervous he’s been in recent days because Richie was already about to throw up, but what if he just fucked him over more by running away from him?

“Hey, guys,” Richie greets the audience with an easy smile. There’s a smattering of polite cheers and applause as Richie adjusts the mic to accommodate his height. Eddie waits with sweat forming on his brow while Richie leans in to say, “So, how many of you have gotten in trouble at a velvet painting museum for getting a blowjob while wearing a vinyl facekini? Now, hear me out-" he waits for the laughter to die down before adding, “You’ve all seen me, right? Get a good look under this spotlight here. Like _I’m_ gonna to turn down a blowjob? I don’t think so. I don’t care about the venue. I’m not picky. You like the ambiance of a velvet painted Elvis riding a jackalope, who am I to judge? But the only reason I was wearing the vinyl facekini was because I’m allergic to latex.”

Richie earns applause and laughter after working through his first joke, and Eddie can relax into his chair. The way he speaks, holding the attention of the audience while putting them at ease, it’s easy to be swept up into his storytelling. But he remembers eventually to take pictures and videos before Richie’s twenty is up. Using one of the better photos, Eddie also changes Richie’s contact photo in his phone.

Once Richie gets closer to the end of his set, Eddie weaves through the audience to speak to the owner of the club for giving him the opportunity. Understanding the importance of building relationships, he thanks him, compliments the venue, and promptly asks about booking a repeat performance. 

“What did you say his name was again?” The man asks.

“Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier. We’re working on rebranding, you know, getting the merchandise up. Pushing out a new website soon. I can forward you the information.”

“You’re his-”

“Manager,” Eddie says quickly. “He’s between agents right now but based out of LA. This is a trial run for the upcoming tour. We like building relationships with local venues, keeping the performances intimate instead of the auditorium setting. So impersonal. Lacks a kind of character, you know?” 

“Don’t I know it.” He eyes Eddie over then nods, “He’s good. I’ll tell booking to keep his name on the list.”

“Great. Thank you again. I’m glad we were able to work this out with such short notice.”

Shaking the man’s hand, Eddie turns away beaming and finds Richie thanking the audience and stepping down from the stage.

When Richie approaches him covered in sweat, Eddie can’t stop himself, “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

“That’s what I used to say to your mom.”

“Dude.” 

Pulling at his shirt clinging to his chest, Richie says, “The fuckin’ spotlight. Hot as fuck up there.”

“Yeah, you were,” Eddie says with a smile.

“You flirtin’ with me, Kaspbrak?”

Instead of answering, Eddie says, “You wanna take advantage of your open bar ticket or just go back to the hotel?”

Richie looks at him, then glances around the bar, then back to Eddie. “Guess we could get outta here.”

“Good,” Eddie replies decidedly. 

There’s an awkward charge in the air between them, Eddie can feel it. Fuck, he’s probably the one creating it. It’s just, anytime he sees Richie perform he gets this impatient itch under his skin. One that wills him to get Richie alone to touch him. Taste him. Make him feel just as fucking crazy as Eddie feels. 

Richie should stay. Network. Charm the owner. But fuck it. They’re far enough from LA that Richie may not be back again anyway, despite Eddie laying the groundwork for a repeat performance. 

“Let’s go,” Eddie makes a line for the door.

On the drive back to the hotel Eddie’s quiet, working out the math in his head. Three, maybe four days left until he definitely takes the bus back to New York. Maybe. Probably. Because going home with Richie would be fucking dumb. 

Three, maybe four days left and Richie hasn’t fucked him yet. Not really. Not how he wants. And he _wants._ Eddie’s not going to leave until he gets it. 

Well, that might be an empty threat because either way he’s going to contact his boss on Sunday night and tell him there’s been an unfortunate tragedy in his family which caused him to leave without notice but he’d very much still appreciate his job. Because, what the fuck was he thinking going this long without contacting them? Myra’s one thing but he’s well and truly fucking over his career right now. It’s finally hitting him. A few days without notice, fine. But he’s been gone a week now and there’s only so much they’ll forgive. He should have fought harder to get home. Lack of action is finally going to create repercussions he isn’t quite ready for. 

What the fuck is he going to do if he loses his job? 

_Fuck._

The least Richie could do is fuck him for it. 

Make him feel it.

Give him something to make his lapse in judgement worth the aggravation.

Closing the door to the room when they return, Eddie paces nervously from one short side to the other. He knows what he wants from Richie. And he thinks he’ll agree to it, but asking- asking for what he wants, for _this_ , is another challenge all on its own.

“Is this because of what I said backstage?” Richie blurts suddenly. “Because I didn’t mean it like-”

“No,” Eddie glares at him with a furrowed brow. “No. That’s not. Stop- Just. No.”

“Okay. Then what the fuck, dude? Why are you being weird?”

Taking a deep breath, he begins pacing again, “Alright so, I want to talk to you about something and I know it’s fucking stupid, okay. Like, I get it. So you can stop your bullshit before it even starts. But like, I just keep thinking about it and I-”

“You want to leave?”

Eddie's heart sinks. “What?” He looks at him in confusion. “No. Not yet. I mean, yeah I do but I told you I’d stay until Flagstaff.”

“Okay, well, let me once again repeat, what the fuck?”

Closing his eyes, Eddie’s hand glides through the air, “Fuck! Okay, you remember that first night?”

“Yeah?” Richie’s brow furrows. 

“I want to do that.” He settles his feet firmly in place and crosses his arms defensively across his chest.

“What does that mean?” Richie blinks at him, “You want to watch _Point Break_? You want me to whip up a batch of chloroform? You’re gonna have to be more specific here.”

“Chloro- No. What? _No._ Never do that to me again, Richie!” Eddie sighs, “I mean, when you told me to try to escape, and I came at you-”

“Oh,” Richie says. _“Oh!”_ His brow lifts in realization. “Sexy times. We’re talking about sexy times,” he leers.

“Don’t call it that, dude.”

“Making sweet _sweet_ love,” Richie corrects, overly saccharine with a smirk on his lips. 

“Worse. That’s worse.”

“You’re the one that wants to get fucked into the mattress.”

“That’s- more accurate. Yes. _That.”_

Richie crosses his arms, biceps flexing, face growing serious, “What exactly are you talking about here?”

“I was thinking,” he starts slowly, “I could try to run again and you could-”

“Stop you?”

“Uh huh,” Eddie nods, looking anywhere but Richie’s eyes, ignoring the way his face warms from the embarrassment of it all.

“Stop you with my dick?”

“Just,” Eddie rolls his eyes, “don’t let me go.” It comes out more earnestly than he intends and he finally makes himself meet Richie’s eyes, who is looking back at him just as openly. Feeling everything like his heart is flayed open in front of him, Eddie swallows.

“You into that?” Richie asks softly.

“I don’t know. I guess,” he admits. “I’m still here, right? I guess I am.”

Richie tries to hold back a smile, but nods. “How rough are we talkin’, Eds?”

“Don’t, like, strangle me or kick me. Or break anything.”

“Okay. Got it. No trips to the ER.”

“But,” Eddie worries his lip before he asks, “Can I take a swing at you?”

Richie leans into him. Eddie can smell his cologne as his nose nuzzles against his neck. He say with a smile that Eddie can feel, “Oooh, yeah. Hit me, baby!”

“Shut up,” Eddie says returning a smile of his own. There’s a jump in his stomach keeping him on edge because he’s not a good fighter. The brawl outside the bar alone elucidates the skill in which Eddie has been blessed to throw a punch, freezing up until his blood runs cold and he can’t move. 

But it’s really not about that.

“Is it bad if I’m kinda into this?” Richie asks.

“How into it?”

“Half-chub?” Richie laughs at Eddie’s reaction. “Look, I’m cool if you _try_ to hit me but don’t throw a chair at me this time you little shit.”

Tracing his hand along Richie’s jaw, he turns his face to meet his lips, kissing him deeply. Loving the way Richie fits perfectly against him, he almost feels disappointed that Richie didn’t actually mean what he said earlier, loving him and all, but he takes a perverse comfort in knowing that it was once true. It’s still true in its own way.

Then he throws a punch. Eddie is about to laugh in victory when Richie catches his fist before it lands.

“Shit,” Eddie breathes with wide eyes.

“Come on, Eds. Gotta be more creative than that.”

So he tries again, with his left hand, once again blocked by Richie. He watches the transformation Richie undergoes, shifting gears, bringing that sinister skill ever creeping behind the glint of his eye now front and center. Richie grabs him from the waist and lifts him over his shoulder with an ease that unsettles but excites Eddie.

“What the fuck, Richie!” Eddie cries, trying to kick free. Richie’s only doing what he asked but the surprise of how strong he is still catches him off guard and the nervous fluttering in his stomach is back.

Richie drops him onto his back on the mattress and Eddie tries to bolt for the door immediately, but Richie’s on top of him, pinning him with his chest, gripping his wrists too tight.

“You got a punch in last time, Kaspbrak,” Richie taunts. One hand trails to Eddie’s jaw, too tight, gripping him cruelly. “Not really fighting it, huh? God, not even out of your marriage and you’re spreading your legs for the first firm dick you find.” Grinding himself down, Eddie can feel how hard he is. 

Closing his eyes, he turns his head and wills himself to shift his legs, getting his knee in the right position to give himself leverage. Adjusting, Richie lets up on his jaw.

“How long have _you_ wanted this, Rich?” Eddie gets out. “How long have you been thinking about pinning me down? Fuck me open. In love with me since we were kids, huh? What kind of thoughts ran through your mind when you were sneaking into my room at night back then?”

"Too many dirty ones for me to share with a nice boy like you, Eds."

His dick is just as hard as Richie’s and he almost regrets when he pushes with his leg and is able to squeeze himself out from underneath Richie, escaping but only just.

“No you don’t!” Richie calls out.

He grabs for him at the shoulder but Eddie slips by. Scrambling from the bed, his hair is a wild mess and heart pounds hard in his chest from the exertion while he watches Richie kneeling on the bed, whose only movement is the rise and fall of his own chest. 

Eventually Richie huffs a laugh as he slowly pulls himself, standing from the bed. “Take your clothes off.” It’s a demand.

Eddie wants to tell him to fuck off, but it’s really a valid suggestion, so he fumbles with his belt and struggles to pull his pants down before removing his shoes. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Richie does the same, tucking his hard cock into the elastic of his boxers. Eddie takes his eye off of him for only a second while he pulls his shirt over his head, but it’s all Richie needs to attack.

“Fuck!” Eddie cries as he’s being thrown back onto the bed, but Richie over shoots it and Eddie kicks too wildly. He ends up falling over the other side, landing in a sprawl on the floor.

“Oh shit!” Richie laughs.

Eddie can’t hold back his own laughter until he realizes it’s been too long and Richie should have been back on him. Peeking his head up, his eyes go wide as he sees him standing on the other side of the bed, waiting with a stupid fucking arrogant smile on his face and rope in his hand. 

“Oh shit,” Eddie sighs.

“Yeah?” Richie cocks an eyebrow, asking permission.

Eddie shrugs, curious what he intends to do with it.

Then Richie moves. Fast. Circling the bed and grabbing his ankles while Eddie tries unsuccessfully to claw for anything and misses. As he’s being dragged he can feel the burn of the carpet on his hip and tries to ignore how disgusting the hotel floor is, but Richie lifts him again. Dropping him to the bed, this time on his stomach, Eddie doesn’t stand a chance when Richie forces his arms behind his back. The sting of the rope bites into the delicate skin of his wrist.

“Holy fuck, Richie.” 

“I could break you so easily, Eds. You know that right?” 

“Yeah,” he shudders, knowing how true it is.

“You like it.” 

It’s not a question. Swallowing, Eddie admits softly, “Yeah.” He hisses when he feels Richie rub himself against his ass. 

“You know how fuckin’ hot you are?”

“You’re all talk, Rich. Why don’t you shut up and fuck me already?” 

Richie rips his underwear down and must do the same to his own because then he can feel him there against his ass. Dripping and hot. “This what you want?”

“Yeah. Shut the fuck up and do it.”

Eddie closes his eyes tightly, waiting for the breech. But it doesn’t come. His heart is pounding when Richie lifts Eddie’s hips driving his chest into the mattress. He balances on his knees, ass forced into the air and his face to the side. 

With a firm grip, Richie strokes his cock. “So wet, Eds. You get so wet for me.”

His arms sting from the stretch of being in such an uncomfortable position, but Eddie bites his lip to hold back a moan as Richie works his cock too slowly.

“Not wet enough, though,” Richie whispers. Removing his hand Eddie whimpers from the loss but he’s immediately distracted by Richie’s fingers at his lips. “Suck,” he demands.

As Eddie’s about to tell him to fuck off, Richie shoves his fingers forward into his mouth. Tasting the slick of himself and the salt of Richie’s fingers, he wants to protest until Richie leans against his ass and he can feel his hard cock. Richie moans and Eddie sucks. He sucks his fingers like they’re Richie’s cock, lips wrapped around him tightly like he can’t get enough. Whimpering like a bitch in heat because it’s not what he wants to have his lips wrapped around.

“Fuck, Eds,” he’s breathless, rocking against Eddie. Removing his fingers, Richie leans back enough and finally teases at his hole with his fingers. “This what you want?”

Holding his eyes closed, Eddie bites out, “I want your fuckin’ cock inside me, dipshit. Now fuck me already.”

Pushing in with a finger, Eddie gasps as Richie says, “You’re good with your mouth. Natural born cocksucker, Eddie.” Eddie moans when Richie hits the nerves inside him that make him feel tense and limp all at once. “I think you’ll be even better at takin’ my cock. I think about it all the time. You have a loud fuckin’ mouth that doesn’t know when the hell to stop, but I know how to shut you up, don’t I?”

“Rich-” he pleads as Richie rubs again at that spot inside him, and Eddie trembles at how good it feels. 

“Not gonna fuck you like this, Eds.”

Eddie whines into the mattress as Richie reaches his hand around, stroking him with intention while opening him up with two fingers. He doesn’t know when he started to push back against him but all he wants is more. They bought condoms. They bought lube. Why the fuck isn’t Richie fucking him into the mattress? “Rich, I’m gonna-” he tries to hold on but he gets the image of himself in his mind, arms tied behind his back, ass in the air, and Richie pulling him off. “Fuck,” he sighs, releasing over Richie’s fingers, going slack.

Richie unties his arms quickly and Eddie lies himself down on his side, watching lazily as Richie strokes himself.

“No, no.” Eddie says, waving him to come closer. To kiss him. 

Lucky for Eddie, he obliges. As Richie leans down, meeting their lips, Eddie’s hands find their way to his hair, scratching his scalp, making him shiver. He knows he can’t force him, so he pushes gently at his shoulder until Richie lifts up, looking at him in a daze. Sitting, Eddie guides Richie to lie on his back.

When Richie gives him a questioning glance, Eddie says simply, “I told you wanted you inside me.”

Richie’s eyebrows lift in surprise as Eddie straddles him in reverse. Before he can protest Eddie lowers his mouth to Richie’s dick and takes him in as far as he’ll go.

“Fuck,” Richie breathes, settling into the bed.

Closing his eyes, Eddie savors the weight of his cock on his tongue, the way he can’t quite fit as much of him as he’d like, though he tries for more. The soft panting and quiet moaning from Richie have him pushing for more, hollowing his cheeks and humming around his hard dick. With his hand he begins to pump and he realizes too late the way he’s still presenting his ass to Richie when he feels his hands ride up the back of his thighs.

Eddie’s face is burning and his brow is sweating but Richie coos at him, “So fuckin’ good, Eds. Fuck.”

Then a finger is tracing around his hole once again. He’s too sensitive. He knows he won’t come again, not so soon, but Richie pushes inside him anyway and he moans.

“Fuck, I’m gonna-” a finger goes deeper while Richie’s other hand grips his thigh too tightly. 

Eddie pops off to say, “If you don’t come in my mouth I’m never going to touch your dick again.” 

Lips back on his cock, Richie writhes beneath him as Eddie sucks and strokes and wills Richie, _Do it. Fuckin’ do it, Richie!_

Richie’s legs shudder as he swears, then Eddie is tasting him. Swallowing him down. Reveling in the wanton moan, deep in Richie’s throat that he lets escape through parted lips. 

And Eddie did this to him. Eddie took this formidable threat of a man and reduced him into a quivering mess on the bed. And he loved every minute of it.

Rolling off, Eddie lies panting, looking up at the water spot on the ceiling, waiting for Richie to come back to him.

“Shit,” Richie laughs eventually. “I can tie you up properly next time. If you’re into that. Which-”

“Depends how funny your next set is,” Eddie interrupts.

Laughing softly, Richie says, “Fuck, Eds.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, absently trailing his finger along Richie’s leg. “And speaking of that, why won’t you fuck me?” 

“I’ll fuck you, Eddie,” Richie assures softly, breathing slowly returning to normal. “I just want to be kissing you while I do it.”

Eddie’s heart pounds faster and he doesn’t even try to hide his smile, but he still teases, “Aww, romantic.” When he lifts his head he finds Richie with his hand extended and middle finger displayed lazily.

“Oh, I’ll show you romantic, Spagheds.”

* * *

The drive to Amarillo is too long for either of them to bear, but Eddie is the one finally backing Richie into a truckstop bathroom to kiss him in a shower stall. Moaning against his lips like he can’t get enough. When Richie slips on the wet tile, falling hard on his ass, they both break down in laughter. Eddie’s stomach hurts by the time he’s helping pull him to his feet. 

They leave sheepishly when someone else enters. Finding their way back on the highway, putting more hours in on the black top, Eddie is counting down until they get to the next stop.

At the hotel, Eddie finds out that Richie booked the honeymoon suite which has Eddie rolling his eyes but accepting it all the same with a tight thrill in his chest. The complimentary wine is nice touch but both are reluctant to drink too much before Richie’s set.

Neither, however, can wait another minute to get their hands on each other. Quickly shedding their clothes, Richie lays Eddie out on the bed, kissing his chest. Condom and lube, the evidence of their intention, both lie in wait on the bed. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Richie whispers.

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ break,” Eddie sighs, “Now fuck me.”

And finally he does, while Eddie is lying on his back Richie works him open slowly with his fingers until finally he can rock into him. Thrusting gently until he works up the pace between them. Richie kisses him, like he said he would. The stretch he feels burns in a way he learns to love by the time Richie is shaking over him, open mouthed press of his lips against Eddie’s neck.

They’re panting together by the end, and Eddie’s has to admit that Richie was right. It was better because he could kiss him. Only there is a sinking dread he feels settle in the pit of his stomach from the all too sudden realization that he’s falling for Richie. Hard. It’s high school all over again but with higher stakes and bigger consequences. Eddie swallows down his uneasiness. It’s not like he didn’t know it was coming. He knew the moment he saw Richie again with his strong arms and his broad shoulders, he knew he never stood a chance. 

The set Richie performs that night is the best Eddie has seen yet. His heart races every time Richie smiles knowingly his way. Eddie manages to take video and a few photos but mostly he just enjoys watching Richie perform.

The best day they’ve had together is over far too quickly and soon they’ll be at Flagstaff. Eddie tries to push it from his mind, but he knows that he’ll be buying a bus ticket, or renting a car, or hitchhiking- whatever the hell it takes to get back to New York City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm candle-jill on tumblr. Come say hi! :)


	7. Chapter 7

Exhaustion from days in the car settles in quiet waves over Eddie as the road hypnotizes him. It clashes uncomfortably with biting tension growing in his shoulders and low in his back, keying up his anxiety. Each sign for Flagstaff on the side of the road beckons to him, taunting like a blinding marquee of foreboding. Questions he’s pushed too long aside begin to resurface and when he grips the wheel, knuckles turning white, he can no longer restrain himself.

“What are you gonna use?” He asks.

“Hmm?” Richie turns his head in the passenger seat lazily. 

“The guy. The guy. You know, _the guy_ you’re gonna-” Eddie can’t even say it. “How are you gonna do it?” From the corner of his eye he can tell Richie is visibly tensing. 

Sitting up straight, he says, “I thought we weren’t talking about that?”

“I’m talking about it now. I need to know.” 

Richie’s chest puffs out with the deep breath he takes and replies simply, “A gun.”

“Okay. You say you have a gun but I haven’t seen it.”

“I _will_ have one.”

Eddie’s mind races with more questions, settling finally on, “Can’t you just like, incapacitate him? Or, I don’t know, scare him or some shit?”

Sighing heavily, Richie digs out one of his phones and reads dully, _“Defendant initiated contact with Plaintiff at four different parties-”_ he clarifies, “Children’s parties that is-” then continues to read, _“Defendant tied Plaintiff to a bed, exposed himself to Plaintiff, and then proceeded to forcibly rape Plaintiff. During the course of this savage sexual attack, Plaintiff loudly pleaded to stop. Defendant responded to pleas by violently striking Plaintiff in the face. Defendant proceeded to rape her anally and vaginally despite her loud pleas to stop-_ ”

“Okay!” Eddie interrupts.

“That’s not the only one here, Eds. He’s been doing it for years.” Richie tucks his phone away and removes his glasses to wipe his face. “I told you before, this wasn’t the first time he was caught. It’s not gonna stop. The judicial system is fucked. Do you want to hear what the kids that grew up have to say about how it’s affected their lives? The ones that are still alive, I mean. Obviously the ones that committed suicide don’t have much of a voice anymore.”

“Okay,” Eddie shakes his head in concession, “I get it.”

“Why does he get to live when what he did to them made them want to kill themselves, huh? Why does _he_ get to walk free? Something like that happens to a kid, it lasts, you know?”

Suddenly Eddie feels like they might not just be talking about the hit. He wonders how often Richie has felt like that over the years, if it ever got bad enough where he wanted to act on it. Swallowing down the uneasiness at the back of his throat, Eddie says softly, “I get it, Rich.”

Settling back into the seat, Richie asks, “Anymore questions?”

He pauses, tensing his jaw in thought then forces himself to ask, “Can I see the transcripts?” 

* * *

They switch seats efficiently, pulling off to the side of the road where Richie hands over his laptop with open documents. Understanding the guy deserves it will put his conscience at ease, but when Eddie starts reading he only feels worse.

_I think he said he was the tickle monster. He started to tickle me-_

Eddie jumps ahead.

_And I remember seeing his chest hair right next to my face. I’m like, ‘This is just — this is icky-’_

He scrolls.

_He pulled my shorts down and started performing oral sex on me. I freaked out. I got nervous. I got scared-_

Eddie closes the screen of the laptop.

“I only had the adult testimony up,” Richie offers solemnly. “I think most were ten or eleven at the time it happened.”

“Jesus,” Eddie sighs, leaning back into the seat. They’re quiet for a moment, letting the heavy air settle between them. There’s a restlessness in Richie that Eddie can sense, knowing he wants to speak, but he doesn’t. Finally, Eddie offers, “I’m not gonna try to talk you out of it, not for his sake. But for yours? I hope you reconsider.” His voice is tired to his own ear. 

Flagstaff comes and with it dissipates the easiness of his time with Richie. Arriving late Sunday means that Eddie has yet another reason to push off contacting his employer, but he’s determined to do so after he knows Richie is safe. 

They're in a motel this time, not as nice as Eddie would prefer but good enough, and once their room passes Eddie's inspection, he showers from a long day on the road, and collapses onto the bed next to Richie.

“You okay?” Richie asks with a tilt of his head. 

“No.” The truth of it thunders in the otherwise silent room. “I’m gonna leave after you’re done, Rich.” 

“I’m sensing that the immediacy of going back to your life isn’t the full problem here, right?”

“Come on, man. You know. You’ve always known I’m not cool with this. With what you do. Don't act like you're surprised.”

“Yeah,” Richie offers in return softly.

Eddie’s been thinking about it all. Too much. And maybe it’s some self serving punishment or a way to make the break from him easier, but he finally tells him, “I want to come with.”

“When I do the hit?”

“Yeah.”

Richie’s silent, the bed still. Eventually he says, “It’s not safe, Eddie. Something could go wrong-”

“I’ll wait in the car. I just-” he thinks he’s brave when he continues, “I need to see it. I need it to be real.”

“You wait in the car,” Richie says sternly.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, half wondering if he’s already planning not to follow through at all. 

“You wait in the fuckin’ car, Eddie.”

“Yeah, of course! Fine.”

Richie closes his eyes, looking like he wants to pull out his hair. “Fine.” 

They fall asleep in a tangle of limbs.

* * *

Eddie watches through unveiled curiosity as Richie prepares the next day. Contacts in. A dark henley on (Eddie wants to point out it's one he should have worn during his last set, but he bites his tongue instead). There’s tension between them, neither one exerting the effort to put the other at ease. It’s starting to feel like too much when Eddie notices that Richie seems to actually be upset. There’s an intent furrow to his brow as Richie studies his phone, scrolling furiously, swiping in a frenzy. 

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks, cautiously.

“Fucking Fuchs,” Richie stands as he dials the phone and begins to pace. When Jason answers, Richie starts with, “I’m not fuckin’ doin’ that you prick.”

Eddie can’t hear what he says but Richie’s edgy and tense as he walks the length of the room.

“Fuchs, I swear to fucking god, this is the last fuckin’ one and I’m done. I’m done with that bullsh- Yeah, _I’ll_ tell him. Fuck yeah, I’ll tell him. You’re a fuckin’ pussy. I didn’t _mean_ to stab that guy in the balls! It’s not an à la carte service I provide and I’m not going to-” Richie pulls the phone away and bangs it against his head in frustration. With a heaving chest, he returns the phone to his ear, this time speaking more calmly, “Gray knows I don’t do that shit so if he has a fuckin’ problem with it you can tell him to talk to me himself.” Then hangs up the phone. 

“Everything okay?” 

“Fuckin’ peachy,” Richie sits heavily next to Eddie on the bed.

Eddie threads his fingers through Richie’s, kissing his knuckles with a sympathetic smile. “You know what I think about it.”

“I’m gonna quit, Eds. I am,” Richie’s shoulders go slack. “But I can’t let this one go.”

“What was all that on the phone?”

“You stab a guy in the balls _one time_ and suddenly it becomes a specialty!” 

“The nuts, Rich?” Eddie asks, visibly cringing.

“Fuck, I know. Cruel right? Fuchs is trying to offer it out as a service, the fucker.”

Nodding his head like he’s listening, Eddie feathers his lips over Richie’s fingers, kissing the tip of his index finger innocently before bringing it into his mouth.

“You little shit,” Richie’s lip twitches and his brow eases as a smile begins to break.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eddie does it again, taking his finger in further to the second knuckle, swirling his tongue, then kissing the padded tip once more.

Pulling his finger away like Eddie burned him, Richie stands quickly. “No! Not-” he points, “not now. _Later.”_  
  
“Might make you feel better-” Eddie tries to pout but the whimper Richie gives him breaks his serious facade.

Richie grabs him by the back of the neck pulling him in for a crushing kiss. He can still taste the mint of his toothpaste, when Richie repeats, _“Later._ I have to do something right now.”

“I’m coming with!” Eddie insists.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on then, Spagheds.”

“‘Spagheds’ is it? Oh, so you _don’t_ want me to suck your dick later? Is _that_ what I just heard?”

“Edward Francis Aloysius James Dumbledore Kaspbrak the third-” 

“Not my-”

Richie continues, “You will _never_ hear me say that I don’t want you to suck my dick and I don’t appreciate that kind of slander.”

“So, if I drop to my knees right now-” Eddie points down while opening his eyes as innocently wide as he can manage, batting his eyelashes for good measure.

“Stop using your evil mouth against me,” Richie kisses him. “Later?”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie finally relents, “Later.”

* * *

“Hey, Rich, why the _fuck_ are we sitting in a strip mall parking lot?” It’s nearly alarming the strict focus Richie has while sitting patiently in his car. 

“You want to know every little detail or what?”

Eddie doesn’t _want_ to know, but he feels like he needs to. It’ll be easier to leave him when he sees evidence of the full extent of what Richie’s capable of. So he replies, “Yeah, man.”

“Okay, wait here.”

“Are you gonna-” Eddie leaves the _kill some fuckface right here_ left unsaid.

“No, no. Not here. I’m just getting the gun.” 

“The-”

Richie kisses him to shut him up, then says, “You’ll see. Wait here, though.” Slipping out of the door, the car rocks a little when he slams it shut.

Eddie watches with a racing heart while Richie walks away, straight into the FedEx. The sound of his own breathing puts him on edge, not knowing what to expect, and it feels ominous the way Richie left him there alone. 

He remembers Gray, then. He never should forget him but with Richie by his side he hasn’t once felt scared. Only, he’s alone now and despite the bright shining sun through the passenger side window warming his skin, he still gets chills. Feeling anxious, he remembers his breathing. He inhales, holds and counts, then exhales to Richie walking back out with a package in his hand. 

Without his glasses, with his shoulders pulled straight back, he looks like an entirely different person. He’s confident in this and it’s immediately obvious he’s done it before.

The door opens and he sits, handing the package to Eddie. The weight of the box is heavier than he anticipates. “What’s this?” 

“Gun,” Richie replies simply, pulling the car into drive and leaving the lot.

Unconsciously holding his breath, Eddie reminds himself again to inhale. _Two. Three. Hold. Exhale._

“Gun.” Eddie says back. Feeling the way it sits on his tongue. 

“Well, I ain’t stabbin’ him in the nuts.” 

“You can just, like, mail a gun across the country?” Eddie asks, incredulously.

“Yeah, dude. God bless America,” Richie salutes sarcastically.

He drives for what feels like hours while Eddie focuses on nothing but the heavy weight in his lap. He realizes it has only been forty minutes when he checks the clock as they pull up on a hilltop. Richie puts the car in park.

“What are you doing now?” Eddie asks.

Turning, Richie studies him closely before saying, “I’m trying to figure out how many of these houses have security cameras. It’s becoming more popular. It’s not a very affluent neighborhood so I think I’m safe. But this guy has been fucked with before, so it’s a possibility he might.” 

“Okay, so, what do we do?”

“Right now we wait.”

“For what?” Eddie asks, looking around. It’s a quiet neighborhood. Mostly empty save a few people walking their dogs. 

“Getting the general lay of the land. Sighting of the guy. See if there’s a good opportunity.” 

Narrowing his eyes, Eddie asks, “You’re not just gonna go up to him, in fucking daylight, and shoot him are you? That’s dumb, dude. Come on.”

Richie’s lips purse as he tries to hold back an amused smile, “Yeah? What would _you_ do, Eddie?”

“Okay,” Eddie shrugs, lifting his middle finger, “You can just fuck off with that condescending tone, Richie.”

He laughs, “Relax. I am _not_ going walk up to him and shoot him. We just chill for a while. We’ll go get lunch in a bit.”

Eddie shakes his head and hands him the FedEx box, “Whatever, dude.” 

Richie doesn’t open the box while they continue to wait. The longer they stay the more it clears out. Eddie hasn’t seen anything or anyone for almost an hour. It’s boring. There’s no reason for them to sit there, at least not one he can figure, but they sit. They wait. And they watch.

“Remember that party we went to? It was, fuck what was her name? Bill was invited and dragged us along.”

“Oh, shit. Yeah. Uh, Kelly- Kelly Gibb!” Richie snaps.

“Kelly Gibb’s house! Bill had such a crush on her,” Eddie smiles.

“That was right before you moved.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie watches his profile as Richie studies dutifully out the window. “You know, I had this whole plan set up in my head for how I was gonna kiss you that night. Like, rig spin-the-bottle or some shit. Maybe truth or dare. I told myself I didn’t even care if everyone at the party saw.”

“Yeah?” Richie’s eyes squint when he smiles fondly, “So, what happened? Why didn’t you do it?”

“Well, I _did_ care if everyone saw.”

“Fuckin’ Derry, man,” Richie sighs. 

“Not just Derry. The whole fuckin’ nineties, dude. Tell me, did you ever think we’d be able to do any of the shit we can now? Just walking down the street holding hands. Marriage equality! Nationwide. Fuck, I think when that passed that's when I decided to leave my wife. But like, we grew up during the AIDS epidemic. And I bet you remember where you were when you heard about Matthew Shepard, right?” 

“Workin’ nights at the radio station back in Derry. I felt sick for weeks. Years. He was about our age, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Eddie agrees. “I mean, I was so far back in the closet anyway by that point, but that was like the nail in the coffin for me. I learned how to date women because of that.”

“Look at you now,” Richie teases. Then quickly he turns to Eddie. Arching an eyebrow he asks, “You wanna go on a date with me?” With a lopsided smile, he adds, “Because fuck the nineties!”

Eddie grins back easily, “You’re asking me out on a date that you know is gonna end in death.”

“Yeah, but not _ours_ ,” he scoffs.

Eddie wants to be angry. He wants to be upset with the way Richie can talk about ending a life so flippantly. But he’s not. “Not a fast food joint. Something with substance.”

“Only the best for my sugar baby,” Richie smiles.

“I can’t help that I don’t have access to money, asshole! But I’m still not payin’ you back for jackshit.”

“It’s okay, Eds,” Richie gives him a sly smile, “I don’t mind being your sugar daddy.” 

Richie finds a good place, one Eddie approves of. Their time together is no different than any of the other meals they’ve shared, but Richie finds his hand more often. Nudges his foot more playfully underneath the table. And the look he gives him, an unencumbered view of his eyes not hiding behind glasses. They show a vulnerability that Eddie wonders if they’ve always possessed. He looks happy. He looks like he’s in love. 

It makes Eddie's stomach leap and he wonders how much his own face mirrors Richie’s.

_Maybe it’s just the contacts._

Back at the motel, Eddie leaves a review on Yelp. 

_Great food. Excellent service. Perfect first date location. LGBT+ friendly._

He smiles to himself as he puts his phone away. Lolling his head to the side, he asks contentedly, “You’re gonna put out now, right?”

Mock gasping, Richie replies with a feminine voice, “Excuse me! I wait until at least the third date before I spread my legs.”

“Hmm, I don’t believe that. Besides, we’ve been on, like, fifty dates already.”

“Yeah?” Richie lifts an eyebrow, “Is that what we were doing before? We’ve been dating? Fifty makes it sound pretty serious. You gonna make an honest woman of me after all this, Eds?”

“Well, I don’t know about that, but I _can_ give you tonight.”

A wistful smile makes its way across Richie’s face when he says, “Guess I can’t turn that down. But-” he lifts his hand, pointing to Eddie, “I’m gonna make you wait until later. I have shit to do.”

Eddie watches with a keen eye as Richie gathers what he needs, pulling out gloves and a ski mask from his bag. Placing the FedEx box on the table, Richie eyes Eddie carefully. Unsure of what he’s looking for in his intense gaze, Richie must find it because he blinks and returns to the box, finally opening it, dumping the contents onto the table.

With nimble fingers, Richie assembles the gun. Checking along barrel, aligning the sight, he works meticulously to inspect it while Eddie hates himself a little for finding the whole process arousing. 

“What is that?” Eddie asks, and Richie turns with his brow raised, about to run his smartass mouth, so he hurries to clarify, “I know it’s a fuckin’ gun, you dumbass. What _kind_ is it?”

Turning back to the weapon, Richie allows his smile to break through as he replies, “Glock 19. It’s a basic ass bitch but it gets the job done.” 

The sinking feeling is back in the pit of Eddie’s stomach. Watching Richie move the gun carefully to the side, he finds his laptop from his bag and returns to the table.

Watching over his shoulder, Eddie asks incredulously, “Are those floor plans? How the fuck’d you get those?”

“Are you just gonna grill me the whole time, dude?” Eddie doesn’t answer except to cross his arms defensively. Richie sighs, “I’m not like some, fuckin’, genius mastermind. He moved into this house a few years ago after he got harassed out of his old neighborhood. It’s on Zillow, dude.”

“Oh.”

Only his deafening thoughts can keep Eddie from speaking the rest of the evening. _What if Richie gets hurt? What if Richie gets caught? What if there’s a nanny cam in the room and they catch him on tape?_ The thoughts are overwhelming, consuming him as he paces back and forth the rest of the evening. The TV is on, some old black and white samurai film which Eddie normally might even enjoy, but he can’t concentrate now. 

Remembering the fight and the way Richie easily kept four fully grown men at bay is at the forefront of his mind. _But they were drunk, weren’t they?_ If Richie needed backup or a lookout, who could he rely upon? Eddie is here, as useless as he is, but he could help. He wasn’t there for Neibolt, but he could be there now. He could be brave. He could throw a punch if Richie’s life was in danger.

Sitting on the end of the bed, Eddie finally looks to the television screen. Reading the subtitles, it says, _I don't want to hear it. No more horror stories._ Eddie can relate, he’s sick of living in them too. The movie continues, _They are common stories these days. I even heard that the demon living here in Rashomon fled in fear of the ferocity of man._

Standing suddenly, Eddie states definitively to the room, “I’m coming too. Inside the house. I’m not fuckin’ waiting in the car.”

“What?!” Richie’s brow furrows. “No the fuck you are not.”

“I’m coming,” he insists.

“I work alone, Eddie. You being there is gonna, fuckin’, throw off my chi or some shit.” He throws his hands in the air, a clumsy gesture.

“I’m coming with. You can’t stop me.”

Swiftly walking to Eddie, Richie towers above him with his arms relaxed to the side but his eyebrows lifted with intent. 

Eddie amends, “Okay, obviously you _can_ fuckin’ stop me. But-” he scrambles before offering the only thing he thinks Richie may value, “I’ll come with you to California if you let me come with tonight. I’ll be backup.”

Fuck his job.

Fuck his wife.

Fuck his life in New York. 

The tension in Richie’s muscles bleed away as his eyes skim over Eddie’s face. Eddie can see the way he swallows back nervously before pleading, “You don’t wanna see this, Eddie. I promise you that.”

“I need to,” he replies just as honestly.

“And you’ll come to California?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll stay with me?”

“For a while,” Eddie agrees.

Unsure of what convinces him in the end, a sigh of relief escapes Eddie’s lips when Richie nods his head in concession. 

* * *

It’s late when they return to the neighborhood. Or early. Definitely early morning, Eddie decides. The hours when the sun is closer to rising and the world feels calm and at peace. The air smells differently then. A time when Eddie used to wake to start his day away from Myra, just rolling from bed to prepare for his morning jog. Except this night he couldn’t sleep. Richie managed a few hours, and urged Eddie to try, but he couldn’t. Lying on the bed awake, heart pounding ferociously in his chest, he was ashamed that he needed to take a few puffs from his inhaler to calm himself. It helped only for a moment before Eddie began to perseverate all over again. Memories of Richie covered in blood from Neibolt are so vivid now when it’s dark. It had been the aftermath of a bloodbath and Eddie signed up for Part Two.

While Richie parks the car a few blocks from the house, Eddie focuses intently on his breathing. 

“You can wait here, you know,” Richie’s voice is scratchy from disuse, neither speaking much since leaving the motel.

“Don’t,” Eddie replies simply. Moving his hand to open the door, Richie stops him.

“Eds, here-” he’s holding out a mask and gloves.

Putting them on quickly, the mask makes Eddie feel like he’s suffocating. He turns to Richie and sees the same man he thought had been there rob his house not so long ago, when he’d been tied to a chair and agonizing over a splitting headache. 

“Last chance,” Richie offers. His voice is sad and pitying, like he knows something Eddie doesn’t. Like whatever is about to happen will change Eddie forever, and the worst part is Eddie wants to go anyway.

“I’m going with you.”

Sighing, Richie screws a silencer on the end of his gun, shaking his head while doing so, then reaches for the handle of the door.

When they get out they’re careful to close the doors as softly as they can manage. Richie walks a straight line to the house with Eddie tailing closely behind. They have the cover of dark early morning hours to protect them, but despite the Arizona heat making Eddie sweat profusely, he’s still grateful for the mask. Focusing on the thumping of his heart, a steady metronome in time with the sounds of steps on concrete as they approach the house more closely, there’s an odd calm that settles over him.

A fence wraps around their target’s house, which Richie reaches over to unlock immediately, a simple latch as they let themselves into the man’s backyard. Richie freezes before he turns the corner to the back patio. 

“Stay here,” the whispered demand comes so quickly, he doesn’t give Eddie a chance to protest as Richie walks away.

Peering around the corner of the house, Eddie watches intently as he approaches the door and the bright flood light bathes around him. Showcasing Richie kneeling to the ground, he’s undeterred from the sudden spotlight as he works to pick the lock.

With his suddenly calm demeanor evaporating quickly, Eddie tries not to swear out loud. Tries to remember to breathe. Tries not to run the fuck away and get the hell out of there and, really, maybe Richie was right all along? Maybe running away really is the best plan?

Fucking forget Richie.

Forget Gray.

Forget his whole fucking miserable life.

Maybe he can find some mechanic to work for, an under the table job in the middle of bumfuck North Dakota where no one would give a shit about him. He’d be the furthest from LA and NYC he could manage and build his way up to a new life. 

A click sounds off, echoing into the night, and he sees Richie has successfully unlocked the door. With a wave to Eddie, Richie slips inside the house. He follows without thought, rushing quickly to escape the bright light.

Blinking rapidly hoping he can force his eyes to adjust to the dark room, Eddie realizes they’re in the man’s kitchen. Not a sound can be heard besides the hardworking fan from the air conditioner in overdrive. Eddie can’t help but notice the evidence of life around him, opened mail, paper on the table, and dirty dishes in the sink. He feels sick all over again when he sees a chest open, filled with kids toys. 

Richie leads them through the house, gun lifted, shoulders hunched, elbows slightly bent, he’s alert and prepared for the inevitable fight. Unwavering and ready to complete his mission.

The loop of _What the fuck am I doing here?_ repeats in Eddie’s mind over and over as he creeps up the stairs after Richie, giving him plenty of space but not wanting to be left behind. He wonders for a moment if he should have a weapon. Surely a gun or at least a knife, right? He feels like he’s going to throw up.

The layout of the house is exactly as Eddie remembers from the laptop, and by happenstance the door to the bedroom is unlatched. Richie uses the silencer to push it open, then walks directly over to the sleeping figure, standing confidently to the side of the bed.

_This is the part when he wakes up. This is the part when there’s a fight._

Eddie’s waiting for the man to move, to realize their presence. To jump from the bed and plea and cry and demand leniency. The part where he swears he’ll never do it again just please spare his life.

A loud puff of air echoes throughout the room making Eddie jump. Unsure of what happened, he takes a step closer and sees the blood at the back of the man’s skull. 

_It’s louder than I thought. It wasn’t silent. It was supposed to be silent. That's what a silencer does, right?_

An eternity passes with Eddie’s feet frozen next to the bed, watching the trickle of blood saturate the sheets.

Shaking him from the moment, Richie’s hand is gripped tight around his arm and he’s being led back into the hallway. Down the stairs. Through the kitchen. Out the door.

Into the light. 

Back into darkness.

_It was supposed to be quiet._

He doesn’t remember pulling off the gloves and the mask, or the ride back to the motel. The sun is just beginning to rise when he blinks, realizing that Richie is parked outside of the door to their room.

“You okay?” Richie’s voice is soft.

The words Eddie tries to say won’t form on his tongue. He nods, unbuckles himself from his seat and waits for Richie to let them into the room.

Eddie takes a shower, hot as the water will go. It burns his skin but it pulls his mind back from the man lying on the bed. Bullet to the skull.

Richie’s voice.

_The only reason I went to all that effort instead of putting a bullet in your skull is because I recognized your name._

Eddie stares absently at the mildew stained tile as the memory rings intrusively in his mind. That’s what he’d said to him that first night. That’s exactly what would have happened to him. This asshole Richie killed, whether he deserved it or not, never saw it coming. And it so easily could have been Eddie. It was _supposed_ to be Eddie. 

No chance to escape. No fight. The man was completely unaware of his fate, all decided on the whims of someone like Richie.

He throws up in the shower and watches in a disconnected daze, hunched over, as the mess runs down the drain. The water runs over his face and he scrubs at it. Rinsing out his mouth, he spits then turns the faucet off.

Brushing his teeth with care, he packs up his toiletry bag, scoops his clothes up, and walks out into the room with only a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Eds-” that voice is pained.

“I’m, uh, pretty exhausted,” Eddie manages to say. Putting on the too big _Frankie Says Relax_ shirt and sliding into boxers, he sits on the bed. He’s been up all night. He really should be exhausted, but it’s a lie. 

“Okay,” Richie says delicately. “I’m just gonna shower. Try to get some rest.”

Eddie can’t look at him as he leaves for the bathroom. Allowing himself a moment, he takes a deep breath and looks around the room. He can’t go with Richie. He knows that now. Without much thought, he takes out his phone and calls his boss.

“Hey, Jerry?” Eddie says. “It’s me. It’s Eddie, uh, _Edward_ Kaspbrak”

The call goes better than expects. He bullshits his way through it, “Myra and I are separating. I was moving for good when I got a call about a family member. It was a tragic accident and I-"

_“We’re just glad you’re okay! Everyone thinks you’re dead.”_

Forcing himself to huff out a laugh, Eddie explains, “I know. I’ve already talked to the police. Closed down the missing person case. But I just- sorry for everything. It’s been a nightmare and I haven’t been thinking straight.” The lump burns in his throat, too big to swallow this time, and there are tears stinging, escaping without permission. “I’ll be back in a few days, I just wanted to make sure I’m not out of a job.”

Jerry laughs. Once an annoyance in the office, now a familiar comfort. Eddie wishes for nothing more than the banality of his former life while Jerry assures him his job is waiting. He relays again how relieved everyone will be to know he’s safe. 

After hanging up the phone, he shuffles around the room, pulling on his jeans, and packing his bags without much consideration. The water in the bathroom has stopped running and Eddie feels sick all over again waiting for the door to open.

However, it must. Richie walks out with his toned chest glistening damp with drops of water clinging to the hair. Looking down, Eddie can’t handle the way Richie’s studying him with deep concern.

“You’re leaving,” an obvious observation based on the way Eddie is clinging to his bag.

“Yeah.”

“There’s nothing I can say to keep you with me, is there?” 

Eddie looks up to finally meet his eyes. His hair is a mess and his glasses are on. _This_ is the Richie he knows, but the other is the same as well and it’s far past time he stop separating the two.

“No,” he says simply. Then adds for emphasis, “I already contacted my employer. They’re expecting me back.”

Richie sinks to the bed, sitting down, staring ahead. “How are you-” he clears his throat, “I mean, what’s your plan? When are you-”

“Now.” Eddie interrupts, “I’m gonna call a friend to wire me some money. Maybe a bus ticket.”

“Eds-” Richie’s voice is broken. “No, you don’t-” he stands quickly. Eddie turns his head while Richie changes into his boxers and pants, adding, “I’ll give you money. Just wait here.” Richie is out the door before Eddie has time to protest.

He returns quickly with a few bags of his own and his pull up bar. Dropping everything on the floor, with slumped shoulders he approaches Eddie, offering him a small messenger bag. As Eddie unzips the pocket, Richie says, “There should be about five thousand there. Enough to get you back.”

“Rich-”

“And here-” he interrupts, dropping the Subaru’s keys into Eddie's hands. “You’re a better lesbian than me anyway.” 

Eddie wants to laugh but it dies in this throat. “I can’t take your car.”

“Eddie, come on. Of course you can. Just think of it as repayment from what your wife stole for the hit.”

It always comes back to that. 

Richie is a murderer. He’s callous and cold and calculating. The way he ends a life means nothing to him. The chilling determined veneer that blankets his face, covers any potential for who this beautiful person could have become. The light dancing in his eyes on stage, the love Eddie can feel radiating when Richie’s attention is turned on him alone means nothing when he won't change. Because he keeps choosing death, over and over again. It doesn’t matter if the fucker he killed deserves it. Something inside Richie is dead.

 _Why couldn’t you be normal? Why couldn’t we just be happy?_

Richie’s arms wrap around Eddie in a tight embrace. Eddie can feel the wetness from the tears streaming down his cheeks when he grasps back, clinging to him and the anchor he’s been the past several days. Richie kisses him harshly, one last time, a dry press of the lips which Eddie returns the best he can. It really _feels_ like the last time. 

Voice breaking, Richie insists, “I’ll take care of Gray, Eds. I’ll kill him for you. You won’t have to worry, I promise.” Then he kisses him again. “I promise,” he whispers, forehead nestling against Eddie’s.

Death is Richie’s solution and in that moment Eddie knows that leaving is the right decision.

Clearing his throat, Eddie pulls away. Richie walks with him to the door but before he can open it, Eddie pauses with his hand on the knob, looking up at Richie, trying to memorize the way he looks, remember how the planes of his chest and brush of his lips feel. How he makes Eddie feel, cherished and safe.

Richie kisses him again, desperate this time, his tongue is hot and insistent, and Eddie can’t deny him. Richie’s the first to pull away to whispers, “I love you, Eds.”

Eddie can’t reply.

Instead he whispers, “Goodbye, Richie,” and slips out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The film they're watching is Kurosawa's, "Rashomon." All of the films listed in this fic (except Point Break) have been on Bill Hader's Collider interview recommendation list (a list of 225 films and I'm watching them all! it gets obscure, y'all).


End file.
